


we shall be monsters cut off from the world

by Magali_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst and Fluff and Smut, BAMF Daenerys Targaryen, Dark Daenerys Targaryen, Dark Jon Snow, Dark Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Dark Sansa, F/M, Halloween, Modern Westeros, POV Daenerys, POV Jon Snow, Power Play, Queen Daenerys, Smut, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, Were-Creatures, Wolves, all vampire lore and wolf lore probably applies, and some that I made up, bring out the bad in each other but also maybe some sweetness too I can't help it, talks about blood and stuff because it is about vampires, vampire and wolf jonerys are super crazy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-10-28 09:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 38,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20776478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Happy Halloween!Queen of the vampires Daenerys Targeryen and wolf/vampire hybrid Jon Snow have been dancing with each other for thousands of years, perhaps eventually they'll finally be able to be together...if not for his wolf queen sister's power games, a bit of vampire rebellion, and their fights that occasionally end up in stab wounds.  But love conquers all.





	1. hello my lover

**Author's Note:**

> This was bound to happen eventually. I always end up writing some sort of vampire/wolf/creature feature fic in all the fandoms I join. Meh, so basic. 
> 
> tw: blood, blood-sucking, occasional violence, and assault/attempted rape (suuuuuper alluded to, but just in case)

_“It is true, we shall be monsters, cut off from all the world; but on that account we shall be more attached to one another.”_

** _― Mary Shelley, Frankenstein _ **

He could smell her the moment she walked through the door.

He would have been alerted to her scent first if he didn’t already hear her, his ears perking at the sound of her stilettos clicking on the bar’s hardwood floor. His nostrils flared and his eyebrow arched, the curious mix of lemons, some sort of tropical flower, and…he sniffed again. His pupils dilated, blowing sparkling onyx over his gray-brown irises. The low growl in the back of his throat emerged before he could swallow it. The intoxicating coppery taste of her blood.

Another pull of the air and he closed his eyes, his skin heating like a furnace. He fought back the urge to lick his lips, like a wolf waiting for its next meal. He turned and pretended to smile at the pretty lady who had sat at the bar, tapping her crimson nails on the oak countertop. “What can I get you?” he rumbled. He shifted on his feet, uncomfortable being so close.

Her lips, the same crimson as her nails, parted and a soft breath escaped. In the dim lighting of the bar he could see her teeth gleam. Her perfect pink little tongue darted to lick at her incisor. He watched as it slowly extended; only he could see the difference. “Whiskey,” she whispered. She lifted her finger to her lips, tapping seductively, pondering. “Whatever is on your top shelf. Neat.”

He smirked; no one here ordered top shelf anything. Gods knew how long it had been sitting there, but he reached for the bottle of his most expensive scotch—no need to ask if she preferred bourbon, Irish or otherwise, and poured the whiskey. He poured one for himself-- _what the fuck, why not?_\-- before turning and setting hers down, harder than intended.

_Fuck._ She had leaned forward, the sharp edges of her gray blazer parting to reveal whisper-thin black lace, hardly containing the soft crests of her breasts. The growl came out again and his upper lip twitched over his own sharp canines. He was distracted when his other bartender, the great red wildling Tormund, slapped his shoulder and pulled him towards a couple co-eds, who were asking if it was really true that werewolves used to live in this part of the North and whether it was also true that they had died out in a war with vampires.

It was a story they told a few times a year, to get the tourists visiting the castles in the North, with their drafty passages and crumbling keeps. They were ripe for ghost stories, tales of dead men walking, and a King of the Night. They said that even an ice dragon had taken down the length of the wall that had melted to a giant lake, freezing over in the long winters of the North. This time of year the stories of the vampires and the werewolves and the spirits of the wars they’d fought over the years would take over most of the talk in the bars, tourists asking locals if there was any truth to them.

And in the nearby village of Winter Town, the schools would put on pageants reenacting the battles and the hauntings. The library would have a haunted house complete with the silver-haired vampire queen swooping down to suck the blood of people who disappointed her. Some even said she once rode a dragon, creatures of the night and death. Fire and blood, spilling and flaming over the countryside to fight the dead men and the tentative unity she had made with the werewolves to defeat such foes. Kids dressed up in all kinds of costumes, asking for candy from house to house; somehow the giving of treats tying to the story that the undead queen had granted the “gift” of immortality to anyone who pledged to her.

There were also stories of the wolves that lived forever, same as the vampires, a family of them who had been around since the time of the forest children, the old timers said over fires. It always made him chuckle, the story of three brothers and two sisters who could transform with or without a full moon. The story of hteir bastard half-brother, rumor said, who was neither wolf nor vampire, but a horrifying amalgamation of both.

It amused him a great deal.

In the corner, he kept his eyes on a group of rowdy college boys from the University of Oldtown. Their IDs said they were legal, but they were either the best forges he had ever seen in his life—unlikely—or they were just acting like children. They had been getting drunker as the night went on and hitting on a group of college girls from the private school Riverrun not far away. Likely all on an autumn break. He would maintain his watch on the boys. He smirked, hearing them question about the lore of the area. “There’s no such thing as werewolves,” one of the waitresses said. They didn’t believe her.

It amused his newcomer as well. She sipped her whiskey, her crimson lipstick leaving no trace on the glass. “Werewolves, huh?” she questioned. She smirked in his direction. “So there are werewolves in the North?”

“And vampires,” Tormund teased, his giant fire-haired co-owner leered. He grinned, bushy eyebrows wiggling over his ice-blue eyes. “Some say I’m a werewolf, you want to see?”

She pursed her lips into a perfect red bow. Like a present to be unwrapped. “Oh I think I’m good.” She turned her attention to him, her violet eyes lighting. If you looked close enough you could see the gold flecks dance like fire within the ring around her pupil. She was playing with fire, her preferred weapon. “I prefer vampires.”

His lips twitched over his teeth. The mirth in her gaze had him smiling, barely a lift of the corner of his mouth. He glanced at Tormund. “Leave the lady to her drink, Tormund.”

“Besides, I think I might not be in the mood for red tonight.” There was no mistaking that she was not talking about the type of wine that Tormund had begun pouring for someone, almost cracking the glass when he realized what she meant, her gaze still fixed on him.

His friend roared laughing, whipping a bar rag in her direction. “You are an ice queen! Ain’t she Snow? What d’you see in this prissy fucker anyway? His pretty hair? Pretty eyes?”

“I like the look of him,” she said over the rim of her glass.

“Well good luck Dragon Queen. This one don’t sleep with the locals.”

“I don’t intend to sleep with him.”

Only he could see the bite of her extended incisor. He broke his gaze from her and took his glass of whiskey, finishing it in one gulp, tossing the dirty glass in the bin with the others. He picked up the bin, hiked it under his arm on his hip, and called to Tormund. “Taking this in the back. Keep an eye on those fuckers in the corner.” The Oldtown crew, a bunch of pop-collared fraternity bros with rose pins on their lapels signifying their affiliation with the Tyrell Foundation. A bunch of namby-pampy rich boys, he thought darkly, ignoring the urge to kick them out of the bar on principle alone. They shouldn’t be up north, especially not at _Wolf’s Bite _.

For the next hour or so, he fussed with things in the back of the bar and went upstairs to the cramped office to run some of the receipts so he wouldn’t be bothered with them later. He had other plans. He could still smell her. It was like he could taste her. Gods, he’d forgotten how she’d tasted. How long had it been? _Too long._ He threw down the pencil, the force of which snapped the stick into two like a twig. He pushed up from the desk, prowled down the stairs, and slunk around out back to have a cigarette to calm his nerves.

He’d been surprised she hadn’t made her way upstairs after him; no doubt she could sense his every movement. It was a game to her though. The push and pull, longing and taking…he felt like he was a dying man in the desert and she was his oasis. Cliché as it may be, he could not had not lived this long without her. He cracked his neck and took a deep breath, feeling the tingle at the base of his spine fade away, bringing him to the ground instead of floating somewhere in the clouds, thinking only of her.

Thinking only of her lips on his and the feel of her soft curvy body against the hard angles of his. The strength with which she could grab at his shoulders and pull his hair and ride his…he hissed in frustration, puffing on the cigarette to take the edge from his nerves, the nicotine assuaging his agitated nerves. Gods damnit, he felt like he was a fucking green boy all over again. He drew hard on the cigarette, the smoke filling his lungs, clouding his senses for a moment. Until he heard the sound. The cracking of glass and scrape of a body on the concrete. His eyes focused in the dark, flashing and seeing all the angles. The smell of blood, of fear…a snarl left his lips and he took off, his run more of a gallop. He leaped gracefully over the fence to the carpark, and he could see the struggle against one of the SUVs pushed in one of the corners, near the alley leading to the main square.

He almost fell to all fours then and there, but he fought the urge, simply springing over the line of cars in his way, reaching the struggle, but he was too late. He could hear the tear of flesh and the sound of the scream deafened him it was so close. So terrified. He grabbed for the woman on the ground, shaking and crying, bleeding from a scrape on her knee and her dress torn at the shoulder. He wrapped his large arms around her, pulling her to his heat and taking her away from the scene as she cried and he reassured her it would be fine. He didn’t need her to see what was occurring in the alley—best to get her as far away as possible.

For the next half-hour or so, he helped the woman with her friends, called the police, gave his statement, suggested they maybe they go looking—in an opposite direction—for the attempted rapist, who had clearly fled when he’d heard him running to help.

When they had finished with him, he left Tormund in charge and slunk over to the assault location, where he found a trail of blood from the side of the car and to the alley. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, sauntering casually over to see what had befallen the would-be rapist. He stopped and quirked his lip at the sight of one of the predatory frat boys, his body all but snapped in half as the tiny woman on her sky-high heels held onto his neck, enjoying her slow and painful treatment.

She pulled away, her lipstick smeared—or was it blood? He couldn’t tell. She grinned over her extended teeth, her hand yanking viciously back at the college kid’s hair, her tongue sliding to lazily lap at what remained of the blood on her mouth. “Now, now, now, will you ever do such a thing again?” she cooed, one hand stroking at his face, her pupils focusing on the stupid man’s.

He could barely move, but his pupils were also full black, drowning any white in his eyes. “No,” he murmured, almost in a trance.

The blood in the air filled his senses and clouded his judgment. He closed his eyes briefly. It was intoxicating. The smell of her lust as the tip of her cute little tongue darted out to lick at a drop of blood on the top of her lip. Her incisors completely extended and her eyes black with hunger, she turned to face him fully. “You want a taste?” she drawled.

“As nice as that would be, the police are here. You might want to let him go.”

“Hmm…” She pulled the boy to her and her eyes began to almost sparkle, her voice hypnotic and practically fucking angelic. She clucked her tongue, tsking at him. “You were drunk and you came out here…you assaulted and practically raped that poor girl…you’re going to turn yourself in. Admit to everything. Take your sentence like a man. When you’re done, you’re going to go to the hospital and you’re going to get your balls chopped off. If you can’t be a real man then you don’t deserve them.” She patted his cheek, whispering. “So what are you going to do?”

The college kid mumbled it back to her and she spun him around, pushing him back towards the bar. She glanced over her shoulder before she bounced on her heels over to him, licking at her fingertip. “He tasted disgusting, but I was hungry.”

“Hmm…you know the rules darling.”

“I can only eat your customers when they do something illegal,” she droned, like a teenager caught breaking the rules of curfew. She pursed that haughty mouth again and danced her fingers along his chest. She pushed her lower lip out further in the pout. “Oh my sweet wolf, it’s been so long.”

Near five or six years, he figured, reaching his finger to tilt her chin to him. On high heels she was the same height as him. He didn’t have to tilt it far. He licked the blood from the top of her lip and swallowed her groan. The desire seeped off of her, he could smell every pheromone and it sent him almost tumbling over the edge of losing control. He practically hauled her over his shoulder, like the fucking beast he was, and carried her back to the apartment.

They would do this right, he vowed, angling his mouth over hers, taking in her soft sighs of breath with his hot ones. “Our place,” he whispered.

Her disappointment was palpable. He was making her wait and he knew she would be pissed. She groaned again, unashamed, grabbing his hand and shoving it under her tiny little suit skirt to where her panties were practically soaked through with her need. “Fuck you,” she replied. He almost had her right there against the crumbling brick of the alleyway, with her sharp suit around her hips and her heels digging into his ass.

Whatever restraint he had for the kill kicked in. It had been so long, they couldn’t do this in an alley after she’d fed off a predator and she knew it. He bit her lower lip hard enough to draw blood and it had her almost coming in his hand then and there, her knees pushing against his as she almost fell off her heels. He laved at it with his tongue, before kissing the offensive mark softly. He pushed away from her, the wolf taking over in that moment. A flash of red in his eyes and snarling grin. “No Dany, fucking you is the plan.”

~/~/~/~

She almost took care of herself before he arrived, her lust coursing through her, her blood pumping in a way it hadn’t in thousands of years. Gods he even made it feel like her heart was beating again. She ran her fingers up the slim column of her neck, fiddling with one of her earrings, a ruby stud she’d had since she used to be a handmaiden for one of the former princesses in YiTi. Gods that was centuries ago, she thought with a fond memory. She’d killed that princess, when the woman had decided she didn’t want to deal with an entire branch of her family and felt like murdering them. She didn’t take to kinslayers.

She ducked her hand over her black chemise, skimming it across her flat stomach and to the hem of her skirt. The little powersuit number she’d worn had been designed with him in mind; one of his favorite things was to muss her up, so the more put together she appeared, the more he liked to destroy. It was a carnal need in him. The wolf he had always suppressed but was as much a part of him as blood was to a part of her.

Their place was the cabin he’d built several hundred years ago. Back when the land used to be free. They’d spent days inside the one-bedroom little hut. All he had had to do at the time was shift and go hunt; she was satisfied by the heady taste of his blood. It filled her more than any other could. Now the cabin was a fashionable little place she knew he rented out to tourists who wanted to pretend what it was like to live in the middle of nowhere for a weekend.

It was a bit dangerous for her to get to since it required her to transit the wolfswood. He wouldn’t have suggested it if he hadn’t dealt with his pack beforehand. She hadn’t gotten a whiff of his sister’s blood on her drive into the territory and that bitch reeked of jealousy, pent-up anger, and deceit. You could smell it off her miles away. There was also his little sister, who she knew was roving around down south, no doubt sniffing up to the stag shifter who had taken over a large part of the clans down there.

She released a sigh again, stretching out on the fluffy duvet. Someone clearly must have put this place together for him. His idea of a bed-down location was to just shift and curl in a ball in a pile of leaves. My wolf, she thought lovingly. She hopped off the bed and sauntered to the kitchenette, opening the old 50s style fridge. She smiled at the packs of blood lined up in a neat row on the top shelf. “Such a sweet man,” she murmured. She wasn’t interested in it at the moment. The fucking cunt of a human she’d feasted on earlier would keep her full for a long time, as gross as he tasted.

Besides, she didn’t fancy cold A-positive at the moment. She wanted wolf.

The door blew open and she spun, fangs extended and eyes black as he entered. “How’d you hide from me?” she demanded. She couldn’t hear or smell him.

“Shifted upwind.”

He was as silent as a ghost when he turned, so no wonder she couldn’t hear him. “Gods, I fucking need you,” she demanded.

They crashed together, two slabs of concrete, the sound all but deafening, but doing nothing to the other than rile them up, teeth and tongues and hands trying to touch every part of the other. She tore his t-shirt straight down the middle like it was a tissue and he ignored the zipper of her skirt, choosing to yank on it once, sending it to a pile on the floor. _“Kessa,” _she hissed, her nails tearing at his skin, which all but healed the moment she dug in, her head arching as his hot mouth traced over the column to her clavicle, his tongue following after. _“Ipradagon issa. Sir. Qopsa.”_

All the years they had been together, all the years they had fought together, and he knew exactly what she wanted and how she wanted it when. They could all but read the other’s mind and she did not even need to use Valyrian to know that he knew what she meant. He flung her sideways and she went airborne, crashing into the bed hard enough to send the wood frame splintering beneath her and she hissed, lurching for him the instant he pounced on her.

Gone was the expensive little black number she’d worn for him that evening, reminding her again that she really did not need to bother with smallclothes when they hadn’t seen each other this long. She parted her legs the moment he landed on her, nestling the hard length of him close and her fingers knotting in his dark curls as his mouth planted firm kisses across her chest, ignoring the tight peaks of her breasts in favor of what he might find further south. She closed her eyes, which rolled into the back of her head as his mouth planted firmly over her already weeping center.

_ _“_Kessa!_” s__he whined. This was what she had wanted for so long, she could not even see any longer. It didn’t take long, his expert tongue lapping, tracing, thrusting, and doing all the most wonderful things she thought it was all but made specifically to do. She was already close the moment he walked in the door and he hadn’t even touched her. Once he claimed her as his, it was all over. She keened and writhed against his mouth and-- _fuck-_\- when did he start using his fingers?!

One right after the other, back-to-back, and she was ready to die again, but then he did what she did not anticipate, he always did like to surprise her. She screamed, turning her head into the duvet and clamping down, her body jerking with the shock as his teeth bit through her inner thigh, drinking hungrily. She did not even know what she was holding onto any longer, her eyes fluttering open to see he was watching her.

His left hand was planted firmly on her belly, keeping her pinned in place with his abnormal strength, and his right arm had looped around her left thigh to keep her wide open for him. His gray eyes were as black as night. Hair sent every which way from her fingers and she merely closed her eyes again, groaned through the aftershocks of her climaxes and the drunk feeling of him savoring her taste. She let her hand fall off his head to her side, reaching to touch at her throat, lined with a thin layer of sweat. “You’re so good at that,” she murmured.

“I’m better at this.”

Another cry of surprise, this one because in one swift moment he’d let go of her thigh just enough to flip so that she was astride him and his hands lfiting her to jerk her down onto him. She threw her head back and laughed, her fingers finding his and entwining, holding on like the reigns of a horse. A wolf. She kept her eyes on him, as watching him in this position was one of her most favorite things in the world. He was always so contained when he was out in the world, but here, with her, he could be his true self. He couldn’t hurt her if he tried and he could let the wolf come out in all its violent and angry glory.

They both fought together, each one trying to ride the other, hips thrusting and canting, each one giving and taking from the other, until she was clenched around him, her fingers cracking in his as she gripped, bowing taut with the force of the wave that hit her. It didn’t end and she could feel him twitch beneath her, knowing he was close as he continued to ride her through. Can’t have you too far behind, she thought, snarling and surging over him, her silver hair long lost from its braids, snapping his neck sideways and securing her mouth over the hot rushing pulse in his neck.

One break of the skin was all it took and he was flooding her with his release, his thumbs imprinting on her hip bones. She gripped his hips with her thighs and rolled so that he was above her; a few weak thrusts and that was it, both of them were spent, collapsing together. She closed her eyes and her hand went to his hair again, twisting at the damp strands at the base of his neck.

He grunted a little in disappointment. “That wasn’t good for you?” she snapped.

“No, I realized I neglected one of my favorite parts.” His fingers began to twirl around her nipple and she smiled, sinking into the pillows behind her. He kissed her breast in apology, before snugging into the other, his arm draped over her stomach. “I’ll get to them later.”

“Yes you will and I’ll get to my favorite part later.” She smacked his ass for good measure. She reached to rake her fingers through her hair, stretching like a cat, feeling used, drained, and perfectly fucked. Her favorite feeling. “Oh gods, we cannot have it be too long again. I thought I’d die.”

“You’re already dead.”

She snorted. “Yeah, well, again.”

He eyed up at her, the color returned to the stormy gray. He moved a little further up her body and slipped under her, gently pulling her against his chest. The harsh violence of him from before compared to the soft cuddler he was at heart was so incongruous it shouldn’t make sense, but to her it did. He shouldn’t make sense. He was equal parts of everything in the world and she found she fell more in love with it each year.

And it had been very many years, she thought, dragging her index finger along the mark she’d made on his neck. It was already healing. Wouldn’t be long before there was nothing there. She had not come out of her hiding for no reason; it would not be long before they would have to attend to business matters. Right now she wanted to stay a little longer in their bubble of ignorance.

Except Jon was never one for ignorance.

“Dany why did you come here? You know the dangers.”

She looked up, her chin on her hand, placed lightly on his shoulder. She met his gaze and licked her lips. The move drew his attention to them for only a moment, before he reached to start wrapping her hair around his fingers and wrist absently. I suppose business now then, she thought. “There’s a war brewing,” she murmured. She shook her head briefly and rested her head against his chest, her eyes closing as she heard his heart beat beneath her cheek. It was reassuring. All but guaranteed she would sleep. Just for a brief moment.

His grip in her hair tightened instinctively. “War? Elaborate.”

There had been rumors, she didn’t want to bring them up to him, but they had to arise. She looked up, her brows furrowing to a point. “Jon…it has been thousands of years. At some point we were going to have to come to this.”

He hit his head back against the headboard. Very few people knew his secret. “Who knows?” he whispered.

She sighed. “Tyrion Lannister.”

“Fuck!” He rolled out from under her and grabbed at the sheet, wrapping it around his waist in lieu of finding his jeans, which were scattered somewhere around the cottage. He held the edge of the sheet so tight she thought his knuckles would break from the force. He glared in her direction, although she knew the glare was not meant for her personally. Just the situation. “How did he find out?”

“You and I both know how he likely found out.”

He stared at her again. Unseeing. Dead voice. “Sansa.”

“She is the only one with reason.”

“I will deal with her.”

The red wolf had been an irritant to her since she ascended the throne after the great war everyone was currently spending the month celebrating. She was the queen in the south, the queen of the vampires and everything beneath the Neck. The agreement was the wolves kept to the North. They would not trespass on the south and the vampires would not trespass on the North. Did that matter to the Queen in the North? Of course not, not right now.

Although right now had interesting timing.

It seemed Jon finally understood that and went to ask her such when their happy ignorant bubble popped. She heard the sound at the same time he likely smelled the intruder. In the blink of an eye, he was in his wolf form and she was jerking on his shirt, long enough to look like a dress on her as she crept to the door, her heightened senses hearing everything beyond. She nodded to him and opened the door, allowing him to slink out. The pure white of his fur always astounded her and yet despite not blending in with the surroundings the way his brothers and sisters could, he was blessed with the power of silence.

She scanned the perimeter; no movement. Until there was. She hissed, her incisors extending and made a move to attack, but her wolf got there first, pouncing out of the shadows and knocking the younger wolf to the dirt in front of her. He held him down while she advanced, grabbing the small wolf’s front paw and sinking her teeth into it. The move immediately turned the wolf to its human form, revealing a screaming young woman who she recognized was part of the Umber clan. “Who are you?” she demanded.

The woman spit at her feet, growling. “I answer to no bloodsucker.” She grinned again. “Kill me, because you and I both know that you can’t be seen here.”

It was a pity it was true. She was about to ask another question when Jon shifted to human form and the Umber woman let out a tiny gasp as he moved his hands quick, snapping her neck and sending her tumbling to the ground in a heap. She turned and went inside, grabbing her bag, where she already had a change of clothes, knowing that the little suit she’d worn would be tatters after he got done with it. “I have to go,” she said, without explaining.

“I need to talk to my brothers and sisters.”

Understatement. While she had no proof, she knew that it was well within the rights of the wolves to send someone after her, but to kill her? Unless…she turned and faced him, her hands at her sides, shoulders slumped. “Jon.”

He was dressing, snapping his belt through the metal buckle. “What?”

“No one knew I was here. I was careful.”

He looked over at her and shook his head, voice soft. “Dany, they could smell you.” He smirked. “You don’t smell quite as nice to them as you do to me.”

“No.” They couldn’t smell her unless she was on top of them. It was the nice thing about being as old as she was. Only the ones as old as her could tell. There were no wolves anywhere on her path there that evening. If she wasn’t the target then…she looked over at him, her voice soft. “Jon it was you.” She squinted. Someone had sent a wolf to kill him. Were they stupid? She turned and gathered her things, walking over and kissing him.

It was as long as she could make it, knowing she had to get south as soon as possible, before his siblings knew she was around. Before he could get to them at least. She rose on her toes and drank from him, feeling him open beneath her and take what she was offering too. His arm around her waist tightened, pinning her against his chest. It was so fucking unfair; she wanted to cry, like a petulant girl. She was forever in her early 20s, so sometimes yes, she felt like she had an excuse to act immature.

They would not let go until they had to; while she could go forever without breathing, he could not, and finally he broke away, giving her another soft kiss for good measure. His fingers brushed across her cheek, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear. “Gods I love you,” he whispered, kissing her again, so gentle. She moaned softly, her hands framing his face.

After she pulled away, she smiled against his mouth. “I love you too.”

“I’m going to fucking kill them. We barely had an hour together.”

“We’ll get more, don’t worry _issa zokla_.”

Hopefully, she didn’t add to her statement. Hope was a dangerous thing especially for monsters like them. She kissed him one more time and finally tore herself away, squeezing his fingers and padding away in her bare feet, heels in her hand, and to her car. She glanced out the window at him, leaning against the open doorway, but it was too late. He’d already shifted and the last thing she saw was a flash of white as he disappeared into the forest.

~/~/~/~

It took a few hours, a series of howls straight to the moon, as stereotypical as it sounded. He ran for the godswood, their meeting place, and knew that to call a council without first notifying his sister, the alpha for the North since he refused to participate in the politics of running of the region, but he did not care. He sprinted through the forest, ignoring the twigs and brambles that snagged on his white fur. This was important and he was in no mood to deal with whatever excuses or complaints they may have. He emerged in the wood, already finding his brother and sisters waiting.

They always held council their wolf forms and he snapped and snarled at his sister, who immediately growled at him, the red fur on the back of her neck rising up as she drew her ears back, blue eyes flashing on his in annoyance. “_What is the meaning of this?_” she demanded. “_You call a council without notifying me first?_”

“_It’s a council of us, not the entire northern pack leaders,_” he snapped. He flicked his ears, bright red eyes rolling towards hers. “_Need I remind you who the alpha in this pack actually happens to be?_”

It was a sticking point with her and she growled back in her throat. In the wolf hierarchy, he was the oldest, the biggest, and the strongest of them all. He had fought and bled and almost died for his family and for the North, but his sister was the one who reaped the benefits as the queen. He snarled again, not in the mood, not after someone from his territory came and tried to kill him or Dany. She seemed to believe he was the target, but he knew better. Someone knew she was there, they’d seen her or something. He was going to kill them.

“_You stink brother,_” Arya said as she scratched at her ears.

“_So do you, you smell like stag._”, Bran commented.

Gendry Waters, the shifter from the Stormlands. He could have cared less what Arya did in her private life and it seemed as though no one would care about his, except he was fucking a vampire and not a shifter. He wrinkled his nose and shot a look at his little sister. “_Stink?_” he played dumb.

“_Should have showered, you reek of vamp._”

“_It’s disgusting, you’re bringing shame to the pack,_” Sansa sniffed, closing her eyes and lifting her nose up to the air.

“_You couldn’t give us one fucking hour together before you sent that stupid little Umber girl after her?_”

“_What Umber girl?_” Bran demanded, rotating his head slowly to their sister. It seemed even Arya was confused, her eyes narrowing.

Sansa ignored Bran. _“What happened to her?”_

_“She’s dead, I broke her neck.”_

_“Fuck Jon!”_ Arya yelped.

_“No one can know that she was on the territory and I’m curious to know how someone did_,” he growled, getting to the point of the matter.

_“I’m confused, what are we talking about?”_ Bran was late to the party, preferring mostly to daydream all day long.

Sansa rolled her eyes. _“Jon is fucking the Dragon Queen again.”_

Bran rolled his eyes and fell onto his back, kicking his legs up into the air and scratching in the dirt. Jon rolled his eyes; as the youngest, he really didn’t care much about the internal family politics. _“Oh he’s always been fucking her, has been for the last couple thousand years._ He rolled back onto his stomach, tongue lolling. _I thought you two were on a break?”_

They were, lasted a few years, both for political and personal reasons. Gods, what started it? _”Didn’t you kill her?”_ Arya wondered. She squinted. _”She actually forgave you?_

Oh he’d killed her several hundred times. She’d done the same for him as well, but nothing close to the true death. They still weren’t sure what would happen to his various sides if he actually did die. “_I think we were fighting over if I should go to Essos with her. She got mad._” Now he remembered! It wasn’t over Essos, it was because he kept shedding on her 14h century Myrish damask. She’d dislocated his shoulder and then had drunk from him without his permission. Big no no for them. So he’d thrown her off a cliff.

Water under the bridge, they’d seen each other once after that, had fucked each other clear to death—for her a second time—and then gone their separate ways for the last few years.

_”You both are so foul,_” Arya commented. _”Does she turn into a black scaly beast after?_ She hated the Dragon Queen, as she called her, for other reasons. He wondered why they still referred to her as the Dragon Queen. Her dearly loved son Drogon had been gone for at least a thousand years. She kept his skeleton in her mansion down south.

He glared at Sansa. _ “We were having a perfectly nice time until you sent your little assassin." _He went in for the kill, cocking his head and keeping his thought to her as cool as possible._ _”So sweet sister, are you going to tell me how long Tyrion Lannister has known the truth about me?”__

It was Arya who rounded before Bran did, both of them growling at Sansa. The red wolf backed up slightly, a mistake, as it showed weakness. Arya took advantage of it, leaping at her sister and grabbing her neck, rolling away from the weirwood and snarling, snapping, and occasionally one of them made a sound of pain as they fought. He and Bran walked slowly around them both, circling closer until he finally grabbed Arya by her tail, yanking her back when Bran did it with Sansa. Arya bit at ear and he yelped, paw flying out to hit her quickly in reflex._ _“I’m helping you!” __he hissed at her.

_ _“I don’t need it. Sansa! You fucking told that Lannister cunt about Jon!”_ _

Sansa glared at them both. “__I made a decision.”__

__“Without consulting us!”_ I_t was Bran who was now angry, almost unheard of. He was the quiet one.

Arya snapped again, her voice soft. __“We should make a decision about leadership of the territory. You broke a sacred vow!”__

Not just a sacred vow, but one sworn in blood. Sworn thousands and thousands of eyars ago after the War of the Night, the same fucking thing all the commoners were celebrating that week. __”Sworn in blood!”_ _Jon roared, for good measure. His blood! The blood of both the wolf and the vampire and he was now at risk. Dany was at risk. He could hardly look at Sansa with this confirmation, her gaze cool and steady. He ruffled his head quickly, his senses too heightened, he was getting both seeping into him, even in wolf form. He lifted his head, his bright red eyes on hers, seeing if she had anything else to say for herself. He wrinkled his nose again, taking deep breaths through his slightly parted mouth, also taking in the various scents around him, aware to any danger that might take advantage of them all being here together._ _“You broke a vow.”__

_ _“I did what I had to do.”_ _

__“And Jon could die! Do you know how many vampires will kill him knowing that he’s part-wolf?”_ _Arya asked. She came to stand at his side, squaring off again at her older sister. The irony was that he was less concerned about the vampires killing him. It was the wolves that would kill him first. She glared at him. “__His choice of who he fucks notwithstanding, we’re fine with the vampires. Tyrells keep to their indoor gardens, the Lannisters haven’t bothered us for at least five-hundred years, and those sun-bathing freaks in Dorne haven’t been an issue since there were wolves and vampires to fight.”__

Sansa bared her teeth_. _ “Yes, well we all know the one family who has been the cause of all the trouble in this land.”__

__“She gave you your independence when she came to become the queen,” _ _he reminded her, in case she forgot. Seemed like she didn’t care. Meanwhile, Sansa was cozying to Tyrion Lannister, the current head of the Lannister clan in the West. Ever since his brother had a bad batch of blood and decided to take a silver stake to his sister’s heart and then his own, the Imp had been in charge.

They all owed their fealty to the true queen and they’d been at peace for a very long time. Something must have changed, something even Dany hadn’t realized. They were turning on her. He whipped his head back to his sister. __“You continue to hold onto the hatred you have for Queen Daenerys and yet you are allies with the man whose family killed Robb and put the Boltons in charge of the North. They killed Rickon!”__

And they almost killed her too, but he didn’t need to remind Sansa of that. She still bore the scars, even in her shifted form of what they’d done to her. Arya lowered her head slightly, moving to a crouch._ _“Yes, that is a good point Jon. Who is the one threat to her current rule but the true king of the wolves?”__

__“And who is a threat to the Dragon Queen but the true king of the vampires?”_ _Sansa fired back. She sat back on her haunches and lifted her paw, licking at it absently. It bore one of the scars that Ramsey had put on her. She eyed him._ _“You have a choice Jon. I speak as your Queen. You either end it with the vampire queen or you can leave this pack.”__

Bran drew a sharp breath and Arya lunged forward, a roar escaping. He did not move. The wolf his sister had become was quite troubling._ _ “No.” _T_hey all stared at him. He lifted his paw, mimicking her move. __“No. I’m not leaving the North.” _ _He paused again. There had been too many sacrifices made in his life since he was a stupid kid who thought that the things going on around him were just myths and legends. He wasn’t doing it anymore. Not because his older sister decided to out him to the other packs and risk everything._ _ “And I’m not leaving Dany. We’ve been apart for too long.”__

__“Typical male, always thinking of your dick,”_ _Sansa scoffed.

Bran winced. __“Not all of us you know.”__

__“Clearly just me, the heir to both kingdoms,”_ he said. H_e still thought Sansa had something to do with the Umbers. He didn’t trust her. Hadn’t for some time, not since she had made an alliance with the eagle shifters of the Eerie without his knowledge, several hundred years ago during a rebellion of the mountain packs. He lost his sister when she was kept as a hostage. He looked at Arya and then at Bran. He was sorry for it, but it had to be done.

He felt the connection already beginning to leave as he made the choice in his heart. He shivered and shook from the tips of his ears to the tip of his tail. The decision was made. They all sensed it and Arya began to cry, falling to her side and whimpering as she tried to reconnect to him. They lost a piece of themselves with each loss of the pack. He no longer held the connection with them and could no longer hear their thoughts in this form. Goodbye, he thought to himself, and turned, hearing the howls of Bran and Arya as he slipped into the wolfswood, his older sister and former queen merely glaring forward with her cold steel gaze.

He’d become a lone wolf, no longer bound to a pack. He paused, letting out a lonesome howl, the sound higher and colder than that of his siblings, as it always had been. Maybe it was part of his half-vampire nature, he didn’t know, but it was always sad, and he heard the response from his two siblings, before kicking off the stone and making his way south.


	2. getting to know you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany enjoy each other a bit more; supernatural politics are a bitch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moar porny-ness. This fic is just fun. Enjoy :)

_“I have love in me the likes of which you can scarcely imagine and rage the likes of which you would not believe. If I cannot satisfy the one, I will indulge the other.”_  
― **_ Mary Shelley, __Frankenstein_ **

“What should I do with him, my queen?”

She had her hands on her hips, a hip cocked out, and the heel of her stiletto clicking as she tapped it on the concrete floor. The other vampire was weak, drained of most of his blood, tied to the chair with silver chains. She squinted. She could be merciful. Or not. She sighed, crossing her arms and turning away. “Kill him.”

Grey Worm, her most trusted advisor since she’d had to remove Daario from her service about five hundred years ago, nodded and glanced at one of her other foot soldiers, who approached the vampire and against protests from the Lannister lackey, drove a wooden spike up behind his left shoulder blade. The vampire went limp, eyes turning black, and stiffening into a corpse, no longer granted the “gift” of immortality.

She sighed, walking to the stairs leading from the various network of catacombs and caves beneath her mansion. “Shame, I believe he might have been good at his job before he decided to try to kill me.”

“My queen, this is the fourth one we have found attempting to get through our security perimeter. We need to think about relocating you to Essos.”

Returning to Essos after an extended absence from Westeros, to be greeted with this minor rebellion that irritated her like a fly buzzing in her face rather than actually threaten her longstanding rule, was not an option. It would serve to make her weak. Give Tyrion cause. She did not acknowledge Grey Worm’s suggestion, simply ascending the stairs, lifting the long skirt she wore to keep from stumbling. “I will be in my private chambers this evening, please do not have anyone disturb me unless necessary,” she advised.

He nodded smartly, breaking off to continue working. They would have to return the body of the soldier to the Lannisters. In the meantime, she was hungry. She adjourned to her study, a great old library with stacks of books she had accumulated through the years. She approached her bar, set in the corner, and made herself a martini. She opened the fridge beneath the wet bar, removing a bag of her preferred type, A-positive. She added some to her martini, stirring it and taking the glass, a lovely handmade piece from Volantis, made from a tradesman she’d turned several decades ago. She carried it to her chair, sitting down and preparing to enjoy her evening, studying the fire, drinking her blood martini, and perhaps listing out who she was going to kill when she finished with this little rebellion.

Until the side door opened and she heard rummaging. She arched a slim eyebrow, glancing sideways and watching as her pet decided to take that moment to shake off the rain from outside, splattering dirty drops of water onto her lush, expensive, Pentoshi furniture. She hissed at him, her teeth extending. He yawned and as if he was doing it on purpose, he walked over and took a couple licks of her martini. She glared at him. “I should have you neutered,” she drawled.

That did it and Jon shifted immediately. He snorted, reaching for a blanket to wrap around his naked body, loosely knotting it at his hip. He stole her martini, taking a long sip. His lips twisted in disgust. “Why do you like A-positive so much?”

“Well the negatives are disgusting.”

“They’re the best.”

“Agree to disagree.” She pointed to the chaise he’d gotten damp from shaking. “That chaise is from the Red Keep. I think Aegon the Conqueror fucked on it.”

“All the more reason to burn it.” He drained the remainder of the martini, smacked his lips and knelt onto the plush carpet in front of her. A shiver shot down her spine and she unconsciously parted her thighs, leaning back into the armchair and her toes lifting in her heels. His black eyes on her, he removed her heels, throwing them aside. The lack of care he had for her carefully curated fashion and furniture collection was almost enough or her to chastise him, but she wanted him now. They had a lot of time to make up and he had been in a particularly giving mood of late.

He reached for her gown, untying the bow at her hip. She stretched out, moving her legs farther apart to accommodate him between her knees. Whenever he had been hunting in his wolf form, he returned and the wolf never really left him just as fast as it did before. She tapped her fingers on the arms of the wingback, cocking her head and studying the way his gray eyes when full black, like hers, when he wanted to lose himself. It was the warring natures within him, the natures she both loved and accepted. A flash of red in the firelight, the wolf coming alive as he lowered his jaw and showed her that his fangs had emerged.

A gasp left her lips, her skin pebbling in anticipation. She could not help the thrust of her hips up to him, throbbing for his fingers, his lips, this tongue…_fuck_ any part of him she could get. Her fingers gripped so tight she felt the antique chair squeak under the pressure and she felt her chest rising and falling in anticipation, despite not needing the air that stretched through her lungs. “_Kostilus, nyke jorrāelagon ao, nyke jaelagon ao_.” Valyrian tumbled from her lips, her eyes rolling into the back of her head as he slipped his hands roughly beneath her knees, jerking her towards him and her head falling to hit the back of the chair. She moaned, desperate. The Queen of Vampires did not beg. She _never_ begged.

Except with him.

Only ever with him, she thought, reaching for him, needing to run her fingers over his canines and the fullness of his lower lip. To curl into his hair and yank him onto her and into her. Except he would not let her, his hand flashing out faster than she sensed, his long fingers curling around her wrist. It consistently stunned her how much stronger he could be than her when he wanted. That warring nature, she thought, her tongue darting to lick her lips, an unnecessary action but one she did nevertheless, just for something to do because she was dying. “_Fuck me_,” she demanded, in Common Tongue this time, even though he knew almost as many languages as her at this point.

He tsked. “Language,” he drawled, his thumbs dragging circles under her knees, the skin soft as velvet. They dragged up her quivering thighs, before he turned them and dragged back down to her knees again. She whined, slouching further in the chair, her foot rising to rest on his bare shoulder, her toes digging hard. He captured her other leg with his hand, holding her ankle and kissing the inside, his lips brushing the track of his thumbs from a moment before.

She could have him knocked back and into the _fucking fireplace_ if she felt like it and she was growing close. She was going to _kill_ him if he didn’t get his pretty mouth on her immediately. “Now,” she ordered, hitting her heel on his shoulder out of frustration.

Another growling grin. “So impatient,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the inside of her knee next.  


A snarl was his response. She reached into the cushion next to her and yanked out the knife she kept there, just in case, and had it pressed to his neck, glaring at him. “Now,” she repeated.

It was a petty move, but she had to do it, because otherwise she would spontaneously combust. If that was possible. He simply glanced at the knife, smiling again, and she laughed at the same time the hoarse moan escaped, leaning forward as his mouth sealed over her, nipping and sucking and lapping at her heat. He groaned, pulling back long enough to take a deep breath and then dove back in for more. _MineMineMineMine._

Her legs stretched over his broad shoulders and she drew back her left knee, arching further against him. He grunted as she dislodged his tongue, where it was sliding around inside of her, reaching as deep as possible. His hand pressed her leg back away from him, stretching her open further if it was even possible. The knife she’d held against his neck fell from her loose fingers to the carpet. She pushed his head farther, arching over and whining, high-pitched and from somewhere curling inside of her belly. “<i>Kessa</i>,” she managed to get out, eyes fluttering open and shut, trying to watch him send her into oblivion, but her body thinking otherwise, trying to stay upright in the chair. Gods, it didn’t matter, he would hold her up. She let herself go, her fingers tangled in his curls, wondering briefly how after so many years together this was just like it was the first time.

The first time, when he’d come to her asking for her assistance, and she’d smelled something on him other than stinking wolf. It wasn’t until after they’d made love the first time, when she’d seen his fangs before he hid them, that she’d met her first vampire/wolf hybrid. Magic was an odd thing, it had twisted and formed him but it was in the most perfect specimen.

“ _Issa jorrāelagon_,” she gasped. She pulled at his hair, needing him to hurry. “S_ir, Sir, Sir_.” _NowNowNow_. It built inside of her, had been building inside of her for so long, the way he just reached ever inch of her without doing much besides tease and taunt her. It was more than just sex, it had been so much more for so long.

The rise began to creep out from the base of her spine. She panted, trying to lean forward, her body twisting and he growled in annoyance, her movements distracting him from the most glorious things he was doing, his teeth scraping over the sensitive flesh, slick and swollen. It came in waves. One after the other, rolling over her as she arched and thrust against him, and feeling her heart swell in her chest, threatening to overtake her as he made his final move, a tangle of tongue and teeth and his fingers, everything playing a part in his quest to completely undo her.

A silent cry, her neck cording and her body collapsing onto itself, her dress gathered under her and the velvet sleeves burning on her skin. She needed to shed it from her completely, she needed to get him into her massive four-poster bed upstairs, and she needed <i>him</i>. She pulled at his shoulders, nails digging in and he didn’t fight her, rising above, his mouth taking hers in a long, slow, sinful kiss, where she could taste blood, gin, her scent, and the unmistakable taste of him. All wolf and woods.

Arms snaked around his neck and he drew her up as if she weighed nothing, her legs draped over his arm as he carried her from the study, knowing the way to her room with his eyes closed, which they weren’t, staring straight into her. He could see straight through her soul. Whatever remained of it after all this time, after all the death and destruction she’d laid to the world. She ran her knuckles down over his jaw, her lips brushing barely against his.

They ended up in her room and she shrugged off the rest of her dress, letting it fall to the carpet. If she was not mistaken it was the Myrish rug he’d shed all over and she’d dislocated his arm for. She sighed, stretching out on the bed and lifting her arms above her head, her foot sliding up against her calf and eventually rotating her hip out to reveal every inch of her to his roving dark eyes. She quirked her lip and reached up for him, pulling him to cover her body. “_Issa zokla, issa zaldrīzes, issa zokla-zaldrīzes._” My wolf, my dragon, my wolf-dragon.  


“_Issa dāria, se mērī dāria_," he breathed against her lips. _My queen. The only queen._

Sometimes they fucked like they would never have another day together. It was possible. She was over 2000 years old. He was at least the same. They only ever had each other. They could go years without being together and would come together like it was the first time. They could abstain from sex for years. They never strayed. He was hers and she was his.

I love you, she thought, arching against him and sighing in happiness, feeling the heavy weight of him rise over her. She was still trembling from before, her nerve endings frayed, shocks occasionally hitting, only to spark as he slid slowly into her, filling her completely, one glorious moment by moment. She wanted him closer to her, she wanted him against her and to never break away. It was the both of them and only them. Mine, she thought again, rising enough to curve her thigh around his hip, pinning him to her and needed him to move, but he was waiting, his hand shaking as he stroked it over her cheek. She closed her eyes, nuzzling against his palm, and her lips idly pressing a kiss to the center.

It began to build slowly, her mind wanting the slow, lazy rolling thrusts but her body bucking for him to move faster. She tightened her fingers around to find his above her head, where he was bracing himself above her, rising up with each thrust, the next more powerful than the last, the cherry wood headboard hitting against the wall as the thrusts became more erratic; she felt him beginning to lose control, could smell the blood rushing through him and hear the snarls he kept in the back of his throat, trying to hold back the wolf.  


Her fingers cracked in his, gripping so tight she feared she’d break his hand, not that it would do much to him. Her other hand lifted to stroke at his cheek and she used her considerable strength to slam up against him, snapping her arm around his neck so she was almost entirely off the mattress, her breasts flush to his chest and his arm immediately falling from where it had been propping him up to grab at her waist, keeping her secure as he slammed into her. “_Ivestragī jikagon_,” she whispered into his ear. _ Let Go_. Her teeth sank briefly into his earlobe, tugging at it before she opened her mouth wide and secured her teeth against his pulse. 

The barely touch of her fangs to his neck and he lost it. She cried out as he let go of his rather tenuous grasp on control, letting go of her fingers to holding her clear against him and grabbing at her knees, bending her almost backwards as he all but split her open, hips slamming to hers, the sounds of them together filling her ears, but what she most loved to hear was when he finally let himself go to his nature, leaning over her and biting her at the same time she finally broke the skin on his neck, her body bowing taut as she clenched around him, sobbing gasps as she drank from him. Meanwhile he flooded her completely and she knew he only ever drank from her, getting what he needed before he had to feed again.

They fell together in a tangle of limbs. She wanted this the last time, when she’d gone to their house. When she’d come out of her hiding and decided it was time. He’d thrown her off a cliff, that wasn’t something that she could just _forget_. Took a couple years but now she didn’t even really remember why she was so angry about it. She did remember the one time she’d taken a silver blade and jammed it into his thigh, in the early 1900s. They had spent almost 100 years together at that point. Were starting to get on each other’s nerves.

She twirled his hair in her fingers, stretched over him, enjoying the luscious feeling of the hard planes of his body beneath the supple curves of hers. They were monsters, this was their time, she thought, dragging her fingers from his hair to curve over his neck and lightly brush her thumb against the mark she’d made. “How did your hunt go?” she murmured, kissing the offending mark. It would heal soon, especially with her blood in him.

“I found a few soldiers. Gave them to Grey Worm.”

“Were they intact?”

He hummed, unbothered. “A few might have been missing some limbs.” He snuggled beneath the covers with her, his hand wide and pressed over her flat belly. She touched it lightly, not allowing herself to think of what might have been if they had met in another life. They had each other, that was enough or now. He kissed the top of her head, her silver-gold hair tangled and scattered across her shoulders. “They were Lannisters and Northmen.”

_Fucking Sansa._ “Why does she hate me so?” she murmured. She really didn’t care. They had been at this game for thousands of years.

“She hates what she can’t understand.”

“She hates the decisions I’m going to make.”

“She thinks it will cause war, it will threaten the North.”

She snorted distastefully, her fingers dancing through his. It had been like that for centuries, even though the agreement was forged in blood after the War of the Night. If only the locals running around celebrating truly understood what actually happened. “Well she’s got a war. Sending northmen out there to kill you. Kill me.”

He shifted uncomfortably beneath her; she knew he didn’t believe that his sister was actively sending Northmen to see him dead. It was something with pack rules. He was the true alpha, she physically could not counter him, could not order the other packs to go against him, unless she planned to fight him for the alpha position. If it came down to it, she was not sure if he would fight his sister to the death in their wolf forms.

It was not a pleasant brother and sister relationship, not that she would know a good one. Her brother Viserys had been weak in his human form and when they turned, he was weak in that form as well. Rhaegar had been strong, but he’d lost his immortality after he’d turned the love of his life—Jon’s wolf mother—and her shifter betrothed had killed him. Silver hammer caved in his chest. She was turned by Viserys quickly, hoping she might be able to help him take back their family’s kingdom. The vampires had long been ruled by Targaryens until a rebellion placed the Lannisters in charge. She’d fought for it and gotten it back.

And now they wanted to fight her again? Trying to make an alliance with the wolves? She sniffed disdainfully. “And your other sister? Why does she hate me so much?”

“Arya’s just…” He sighed, his thumb dragging over her wrist. It caused a shiver to go through her again. He glanced to meet her gaze, her chin propped on the center of his chest, at the juncture of his slim collarbones. She tapped along one. It was her favorite place on his body for her to drink. He had the most intoxicating blood. It had always excited her, always drove her mad with desire and warmth, and in a way it was comforting for her, something constant she would always have to keep her grounded. Even when they were leagues away from each other and years apart. They were bonded, it only served to make her stronger and him to her. He made a small sound, frustrated and distressed. She keyed in, her lips brushing to his warm skin to assure him she was there for him. His arm over her shoulder tightened. He frowned, whispering. “She wants me to turn her.”

Turn? Oh my sweet wolf, she ached. She sat up, propped on her elbow, her hand atop his beating heart. It was not that surprising, judging from his younger sister’s adventurous nature, but it was still not enough reason to hate her the way the young woman did. “Oh?”

“I’m different Dany, you know I am,” he murmured. A werewolf by birth, turned by his mother, another hybrid made by Rhaegar, after his birth, but it did not kill him. All it did was give him a need for blood, particularly when he was injured. They had never explored the dragon in him, as she referred to it, her lips brushing to the pulse in his neck. He rumbled his satisfaction, his hips bumping to hers beneath the luxurious silk sheets and fluffy blanket. “I can’t turn her. I won’t.”

It was not a life for all, she had seen many who begged for the gift and when granted they could not cope. It was not for the ones who preferred the warmth and the light. She dragged her teeth against the pulse point, inhaling the woodsy scent. He growled. The wolf or the dragon, she was not sure, but she yearned for it to make an appearance again. “And she hates me for your decision?”

“I think she is confused, torn between family and a desire to be like me too.”

It was not a good enough answer for her, but she would take it for now. She trilled as he slid his fingers roughly over the bumps of her spine, settling them in the curve of her lower back. “You went lone,” she purred against his skin. He rumbled again. It was a decision he had never made before. She chuckled and pressed the flat of her hot tongue on his pulse, stilling it for a moment. “You fuck me once and decide to go lone? You are more dragon than wolf. More like me.”

His fingers dug into her skin, moving over to grip her hip. She hissed at the shot of pain and pleasure, rising up against him. “What aren’t you telling me?” he murmured into her hair. His grip tightened again. The wolf was returning to him. She said nothing, until he snagged a coil of her hair around his wrist, jerking her head back and revealing the column of her neck, his teeth hovering over her jugular. His snarled. “Tell me Dany.”

She grinned, lips curling over her lips. “Gods, you are one of us. Your Northmen may not see it but I do. I always have.”

He hissed and teeth extended. “Tell me.”

“Hmm,” she hummed in the back of her throat. The twisted feelings of pleasure, pain, fear, and longing made their way through her body. This was why they kept coming back to each other. Why they had bonded so long ago and there would never be another for them. Even after thousands of years, he made her feel like she was alive. She gripped his curls, silk in her hands. “A wolf in the south does not last long.”

Gray eyes narrowed to slits. “What is that supposed to mean?”

It means that you are meddling in affairs you do not need to concern yourself about, but she said nothing of the sort. She reached for his wrist and pulled it, loosening his grip on her hair and rolling atop him again, pushing him into the pillows and softness of the mattress, bucking her hips to his, and moaning as he pushed back with as much force. She licked at his neck, at the hot pulse, and the cravings for him that brought her to her knees. She had just gotten him back; she would not let him go just yet. “It means, _issa zokla_ that there are things I am deciding that others are not in agreement with and perhaps it best you keep to your North.”

He scowled, but the furrow in his brow smoothed out as he tilted his head back, pleasure rippling through him from her fingers making their way deftly over the ridges of his abdomen to skirt by his hip, before gripping him in her small hand. “My North?” he wheezed. His breathing began to come in hitches as she stroked him. “We both know right now it is Sansa’s North.”

“Only because you stepped aside and you know they are most bothered by that.” She smirked, her hand still moving quick as she began to plant open-mouthed kisses over the various scars on his chest, paying each one special attention as she lapped at the sweat beading on his skin, the hardness of his muscles, and the rough texture of the scars from centuries of warfare. She swirled her tongue around the scar just above his hip and he all but threw her from the bed. She pinned her hand on his chest, keeping him in place as she worked. It was only fair he get some attention, for all he’d given her.

Unfortunately he was still _thinking._ His breath was raspy and hoarse. “Unless of course she’s planning something with Tyrion…”

An exasperated sigh blew from her cheeks and she bit a bit harder than necessary on his hipbone, forcing him to jerk up and a high-pitched whine like a wolf in pain emanating from him. “No talking about politics in bed, new rule. Especially not your fucking sister and the fucking Lannister.”

When her mouth closed over the hot head of him, she heard no more protesting or talk of wolf and vampire politics.

**~/~/~/~**

“What must your neighbors think?”

Dany rarely concerned herself with the thoughts of anyone but his and hers, so she probably hadn’t given any moment of thought to what her neighbors might believe. She, of course, took care to minimize her appearance lest they wonder why they had seen the same twenty-something year old woman stay the same age for the last fifty odd years, but beyond that, she didn’t care. She pressed her tongue against Jon’s wrist, sealing the puncture she’d made in the thick veins there, satisfied and full, before taking his arm and draping it around her neck, curling closer to him in the chair. “What must they think of what?” she murmured, her finger dragging over his plump lower lip, swollen from her earlier nips and tugs.  


He snagged her finger into his mouth, sucking on it for a second, sending bolts of pleasure straight to her cunt, which began to throb again, needing him like she’d once needed air. “Oh you know,” he said casually, his fingers dancing in abstract designs on her shoulder blade. He smiled, leaning to nip at her lower lip, stained red from his blood. “The screaming, the banging…the howling.”

“If I recall that was you howling.”

“And the screaming?”

“Both of us,” she murmured, snagging his lips into a bruising kiss. They had spent the entire night alternating between long lovely sessions of drawing out each other’s pleasure and savoring every feeling, and intense fucking that left him bruised and scratched up and had almost choked her out at some point.

He made a move to kiss her again when she broke away, but froze when the door opened and Grey Worm entered. He drew himself back, annoyed at the presence of her most trusted advisor. “Oh look,” he grumbled, allowing her to climb from his lap gracefully. “Work is here.”

Grey Worm made no acknowledgment of him. He handed her a piece of folded paper and she flicked it open, reading the missive from the Little Lion. He requested an audience with Her Majesty, in hopes of discussing the terrible rumors he’d heard of an attempt on her life while she was in the North. Along with a questioning of why she had trespassed in their territory, was there something he needed to know about? She flicked it to Jon and nodded thank you to Grey Worm, who snapped his heels together in acknowledgment before departing.

She pushed her hands to her hips, the silk of her robe sliding over her as she began to prowl around the room. “We just cannot seem to get a fucking moment together before someone seems to find out,” she complained.

He threw the paper onto the table, leaning back and placing his foot on the edge. She glared at him, her arms crossed. He rolled his eyes and moved his foot back to the floor where it belonged. “You and your furniture,” he mumbled, crossing his arms over his chest, but in annoyance at her rather than frustration about the current political clime.

“Well last night you destroyed my gorgeous cherry bedframe. I got that in Ib.”

“I’ll buy you a knew one.”

“It was from the 5th Century!”

He waved his hand, clearly not interested in her love of antique home furnishings. <i>Such a wolf.</i> He tapped his fingers on the edge of the table. She studied him. The straight line of his nose. The way his hair curled every which way and never seemed to stay in place unless he had it tied back tight. His eyes, so dark they could seem black. The beard he never shaved off, but kept trim and neat. He was beautiful, her wolf. She wanted to spend more time with it, so she walked over and draped herself over him again, parting the silk of her robe so he could catch one of her exposed breasts.

He palmed it absently, fingers twirling over her nipple. She kissed at his neck again, wanting to maybe take another bite, but he glanced down at her, frowning. “What?” she murmured.

“Sansa told Tyrion about me. She sent an Umber to kill you.”

“To kill you,” she corrected. He still did not seem to understand the lengths his psychotic bitch of a sister would go to keep her place as the pack’s alpha. He murmured acknowledgment, but simply stared into space, his fingers absently playing with her breast. She was growing bored. “Either fuck me or go deal with your family.”

“In a minute.” He tugged at her hair with his free hand. “I’m thinking.”

“Always dangerous.”

He made a face, but she allowed him to think. For now. She crossed her ankles delicately, her arm still around his neck and her eyes on his. There were many implications of what his sister had none. She was just annoyed that she might have to install a new head of the Lannister family, which she didn’t feel like doing. She really just wanted everyone to leave her alone as she kept up her reign, like they did most of the time. Why couldn’t everyone be like the Dornish vampires? They just did their thing and didn’t bother anyone, it was why she’d essentially granted them independence and they could rule as they wished.

It was always a power move with the Lannisters. They always wanted her crown, always wanted more influence, and she was irritated. Rebellion was fine every few-hundred years but this was becoming more frequent. “Sansa has something else she’s planning,” he murmured.

“Obviously.”

“Lannister must have offered her something for her to stick her nose into vampire affairs.”

“A crown,” she whispered. It was always the shiny, pretty things with Sansa Stark.

“But why out me?”

“To get rid of me.” It was obvious to her. Jon had the right to the crown through his father, her brother, and he also held the alpha status in the North. Jon Snow could technically rule over the entirety of their realm if he saw fit, but he did not. He was content to fight a few battles every so often, work in his piece of shit bar, and when they made up, they would enjoy each other for as long as they could until one or the other grew annoyed or something happened and they tried to kill each other.

It bothered him that his sister had done what she’d done. To break the vows of their kind…she shuddered involuntarily. Vampires did not have as many rules as the wolves, but to break the blood pact and then to break the vow before a weirwood…even she knew that was tantamount to all out declaration of war and murder. She kissed at his jaw, making her way to his lips. To comfort him, in some way. “You’re mine,” she murmured, reminding him of their role to each other. As if he could forget.

He hummed against her and his broad had spread over the back of her head, angling her mouth so he could sweep his tongue around to tangle with hers. They broke a moment later. She kept her forehead against his. “Sansa does not want you to be queen almost as much as she does not want me to take her alpha status,” he whispered. He knew what that meant. Knew the implications. He sighed, sad. “I’m going to have to kill her.”

It would be a talk for later, but she nodded, her heart breaking for him. “You probably will.” All because the red wolf could not just let things go. Could not just take the crown she’d been provided after the great war, keep to her side of the territory and remain as the queen. She wanted more. Wanted the shifters in the south, no doubt, to pay fealty to her, not to the vampires.

It was too bad that she no longer had her beloved son Drogon. He’d succumbed to old age, near 750, and she missed him horribly. Vampires were supposed to be creatures of the dark, the cold, and the damp, so the humans said. They were running around now dressed as such, but she was fire made flesh. She was heat and passion and rushing blood. She was a dragon. She would have to act as such to keep her crown. She would deal with Tyrion soon enough.

He would deal with his sister as well, but until then…she climbed from his lap and drew his hand into hers, laughing as he spun her around, drawing her hard against his chest. He was smiling. “Hmm,” she murmured, her head ducking to the curve of his neck, fitting perfectly beneath his chin. They were made for each other. “_Issa jorrāelagon_.”

_My love_. “Always,” he whispered, swaying lightly with her around the dining room, their hands clasped and entwined in each other, as if it were their first dance at a wedding celebration. They had had many of those, in many forms and many names through the years. It always was the same. _I am yours and you are mine_.

Her eyes fluttered shut. After awhile, he took her to their bedroom and proceeded to show her how much he did love her. When she woke, she’d turned in bed to see a fluffy white tail disappearing around the door.

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This really is just a trash fic, to be honest, and I'm having fun writing it. It will probably only be two chapters and will definitely allow me to exorcise my re-surging hatred of Sansa's Season 8 portrayal. And Tyrion's too. 
> 
> Next Time: Dany confronts Tyrion about playing with puppies; Jon and Arya have a heart-to-heart; Jon sheds on Dany's damask just to make her mad; and Dany hands out candy to the little kids visiting the mansion.
> 
> Also, random, but another new fic will likely be posted soon. The muse is running rampant, so I shall not deny her when she strikes.


	3. i'll love you forever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon takes a stroll down a thousand years of memory lane; Arya imparts a message; Dany hands out candy and it reminds of her a sad fact; Jon comforts Dany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Saw a Jonerys AU moodboard on tumblr for vampires and it reminded me I still have this fic in works; since I will be gone for most rest of October I thought I'd try to wrap it up. This chapter is a bit sweeter and less insane than the other two, but Jon and Dany as supernatural creatures are still so fun to write as a bit on edge. Or very on edge. 
> 
> Anyways-- enjoy the fluff and smut. :D

_“How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have of life even in the excess of misery!”_

** _-Mary Shelley, Frankenstein_ **

Loud music blasted from the speakers downstairs, some local band playing shitty music, including some song telling of the fight against the Night King and the Long Night and the vampire queen and the wolves and the shifters and whatever the fuck the humans had decided to make up about the story. The lead singer said something then about how the wolf king drove a silver stake through the vampire queen’s heart, starting the first vampire-wolf war.

_Actually it wasn’t a silver stake to the heart, it was a silk tie around her throat and it didn’t start the first vampire-wolf war, it was because she wouldn’t stop the vampires from feeding in wolf territory._ Jon sighed, turning away from Tormund, who was flirting with a woman dressed as a knight. He always had a way with the costumers.

The song moved on to talk of the great love between the wolf and the vampire. He listened for a moment, smiling slightly. _Well that part is true._ Then they went on about something else, claiming that the vampire queen had a thirst for the blood of the little children. He wrinkled his nose. _What the fuck kind of song is this?_ Rather than say anything or try to introduce a new song to the repertoire, he just let them sing and the rest of the little humans play. He had learned long ago to just let history unfold the way the people thought it did; the truth ultimately didn’t matter in the end, history was told by the winners.

And he had been on both sides many times.

“Going upstairs,” he said to Tormund, who barely acknowledged him. He grabbed a bottle of scotch from the bar, carrying it up with him, the music drowned out as he ascended the staircase to the office and the small apartment above the bar. He had endless resources of cash, precious jewels, and property, but he preferred his shitty bar and the little apartment to anything as lavish as Dragonstone or Winterfell.

He sipped on the scotch, moving to the safe, flicking the dial. The combination hadn’t changed. It was Dany’s birthday. Human birthday. He tugged it open and reached inside. He moved by stacks of cash in various currencies from around the world, moving by some of his treasured antique weapons, and ultimately found what he wanted. He took out the box, blowing dust off the top and carried it to the desk, flicking the lid off and reaching in, removing photos. Some old etchings and painted photos. Little line drawings. However time documented a person’s image.

He smiled, his finger running over the photo from almost a hundred years ago, one of the first images they’d ever had of each other that hadn’t come from someone’s imagination or ink pen or paint. She was wearing a high-necked white gown, her silver hair in intricate braids. At the time the fashion had called for him to be in a suit with tails and a top hat. They were married beneath the same weirwood they always married beneath, just in various forms. Dany looked as beautiful then as she was today. He sighed, flicking through to another. This one from about ten years ago, the latest time they’d married. They were spinning around before the weirwood; he thought maybe Grey Worm had taken the picture.

His family never really participated. Once or twice Bran or Arya would show up when they decided to reaffirm their love for each other. Sansa never could be bothered. It was always secret. Vampires would sense weakness if they knew she had bonded with a wolf. He could never let the wolves know that he was half and half. Let alone bonded to a vampire. It was always a delicate dance. Thousands of years of back and forth, off and on, wolf or vampire, and power play. One after another. Like a wheel. Over and over again.

He set the photo back into the box and removed a scrap of lace, his thumb running over the embroidered dragon. It had been from one of the ceremonies over two hundred years ago, if he wasn’t mistaken. He set it back in the box. Unsure what possessed him to go down memory lane, he closed the lid and turned back to the safe, placing it back in and confirming the box was locked tight. Fireproof, waterproof, whatever proof. He’d owned this building under various organizations and names that were all him for gods knew how long. The safe housed everything he wanted to keep protected and that wasn’t much.

He reached in and took out his old sword, lovingly stroking at the wolf pommel. “Longclaw,” he drawled, sliding the Valyrian blade free of the scabbard. He had not held it in his hand in a long time. Hadn’t had a reason to. He swung it loosely, feeling his wrist crack a bit at the unfamiliar movement. He shook his head; he would have to get back out and practice. No good to be lounging around out of practice. Never knew when he might need it, especially now.

He returned the sword to the scabbard, the blade whispering against the leather, enough to potentially drown out the sound of a footstep on the top step outside of his office, if he did not have the unnatural hearing of a wolf and the even more unnatural hearing of the vampire. He kept his fangs retracted—didn’t want to reveal himself if he did not need to, and wrinkled his nose, taking a sniff. He relaxed instantly, turning and opening the door to reveal his sister.

Arya stepped in, without a word, and gazed at the open safe. “You going somewhere, big brother?”

“Not at the moment, no.”

“It’s weird, I couldn’t hear you.” She wrapped her arms around herself in a move of self-comfort. Her voice quiet and sad. Very un-Arya. “You were in wolf form earlier, I saw you, and I couldn’t communicate with you.”

Such as it was when you broke the pack bond and went lone. “It had to be done,” he said. He was sorry for it, but what choice did he have? He returned Longclaw to the safe. He made a move to close it and then thought _what the fuck, why not?_ and took the box back out. “I want to show you something.”

“What?”

He rummaged in the box and found the oldest image he could find. A painting on a piece of linen, from not long after the war. When they had first decided to marry. It was rudimentary, but the image was clear to anyone who knew their likeness. He handed it to her, delicate and careful to mind the aging fabric. Arya stared at the image. Dany in her fur coat that had stitching to resemble dragon scales, tucked against him, in the black fur cloak he often wore against the cold. Their faces turned to each other, beneath the unmistakable image of the weirwood.

She ran her thumb across his face. Kept hers unreadable. He narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what was going through her mind as she studied the image. After a long moment, she snorted. She handed the linen back to him, scowling. “You look like shit now compared to this.”

It was Arya’s way of apology, he knew, so he smiled. “Yeah, well…I was a thousand or so years younger then.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I know.” He took the fabric from her and bound it back up carefully, replacing it into the box. He flicked another memory to her, a picture from not long ago. She nodded and handed it back. “There’s plenty more like that, if you want to go through them, but I think you get the picture—no pun intended.”

She arched an eyebrow. “For a couple that enjoy renewing your vows all the time and loving each other as much as you do, I find it interesting that you threw her off a cliff.”

Must they always remind him of that? He rolled his eyes. “That is an exaggeration, it wasn’t really a cliff.” She was a good swimmer anyway. He sighed. “Besides. She once tried to hang me.” Not that it was justification. They just _happened_ to be standing on a cliff at Dragonstone.

“You guys have some weird foreplay.”

Dany always said they just loved each other too much sometimes they had to step away, lest they kill the other with it. He thought that was an overly romantic way of looking at it. He always just assumed they caved to their baser urges to try to kill each other. At the end of the day they were two warring natures, warring families, and sometimes they grew complacent. Although he did prefer the explanation Dany had. He loved her so much sometimes that he thought he would die from the pain of it all. He took out another picture. “I think you were at this ceremony.”

“I was there because you’re my big brother. I don’t care what they say. Bastard brother, half-brother, cousin, whatever, you are still my big brother and I love you.” Arya shifted and her brow furrowed. She reached her hand to her hip, where he knew she kept a dagger for protection. She nibbled her lower lip. He waited. She’d tell him eventually. After she sighed hard, she finally decided to speak. “I really need to talk to you.”

“So I gathered.” He secured the box back in the safe again, spinning off the dial to lock it. He picked up the scotch and reached up onto the bookshelf beside the desk, removing two glasses, and poured them both a couple fingers. He handed her one, but she didn’t drink. He kept his eyes on hers, sipping at his glass, waiting.

Arya closed her eyes, her fingers clenching around the glass. “Sansa…Sansa put the hit out on you.” She let out a tiny sob and almost dropped the glass. She caught herself and then tossed it back, shuddering at the burn. She coughed and he realized she was actually trying to hide tears. _Fuck._ Arya never cried. “She had the Umbers try to kill you because she’s been having problems with them. She could always just blame them and say they were acting on their own.”

It was a knife to the gut, but it confirmed the suspicion. His suspicion and Dany’s. Of course Dany was right about Sansa. “Why?” he whispered.

“She found out that Daenerys was returning from Essos after her absence…it seems that Tyrion Lannister decided that was the time to try to take over.” Arya wrinkled her nose; she hated politics and he knew it. She closed her eyes again, whispering. “And she found out that Danyw as coming above the border…she thought then she could just…get rid of her and that would be it.”

“And killing me was also necessary?”

“You’re the alpha,” she whispered. She reached to touch her fingers to her heart, eyes widening. “Bran and I will follow you to the death, Jon. You’re our pack leader. We all will. So long as you are alive you are a threat to her and to the rest of the vampires.”

That did it then. He closed his eyes, whispering. “She told them.”

“She told Tyrion about you, yes. She betrayed us.”

Without him, Sansa could officially be the alpha of the wolves. She could be in control over the entire North without the risk of him one day overstepping her and taking what was his by birth. “And she made an alliance with the Lannisters so she could…”

“Control not only the wolves but all the shifters.” Arya figeted in place, her hands opening and closing. He cocked his head, silently questioning her source of this particular bit of information. She blew out a hard breath and rolled her eyes. “Gendry.”

Dany had mentioned something as much to him, but he wasn’t sure if it was true. Or what to believe. He chuckled, his eyebrows lifting. “You and the Lord of Storm’s End?”

Her cheeks flushed pink. “Not…we’re not like you and…I mean…” She slammed her brows together and poked at his chest, reverting to anger. He laughed as she pushed at him. “Oh _shut up_!”

“I don’t want to hear you and Bran ever commenting on my relationship with Dany if you and a stag shifter are hooking up.” He shuddered. He didn’t really want ot think about Arya like that.

“Well you know Gendry and I don’t consider _killing each other_ to be the first step to romance.”

“We have never actually killed each other.”

Arya moved by that comment, rolling her eyes because she no doubt didn’t believe him, and crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself again. She frowned and spoke, wondering out loud. “Do we know what would happen if someone actually tried ot kill you? You’re the only wolf-vampire hybrid we know about.”

There was his mother, he thought, but no one really knew what happened to her. His father had never spoken about her. All he’d heard from those who knew her was that she was willful and wild, more wolf than anything else. From what he was able to piece together and with the help of a scholar—one of Dany’s relatives—Maester Aemon, he’d figured out that his mother had been pregnant with him when she was turned, so she wouldn’t have to marry Robert Baratheon, a shifter and the one who’d killed his biological father. No one knew how it happened. How could a vampire father a child?

Dany always just said it was a magical mystery, that the world was full of things they would never understand and nor should they. Somehow the world wanted him and so he came into being: a wolf with a penchant for blood instead of just meat. His father told him he must never reveal his fangs to anyone, not even to his siblings. In the end they found out, later in his life, during the war. It had been hard for them to understand, that he wasn’t really their brother but their cousin and he wasn’t just a wolf.

He crossed his arms, shaking his head and whispering. “I don’t know Arya. Maybe the wolf will die…maybe I’d meet the true death otherwise…” He sighed. Dany had suggested that he would become entirely vampire, since he already had that inside of him, but he didn’t want to test it. Didn’t think that was necessary. “Would Sansa be willing to risk it?” he wondered.

“I don’t think she’s thought that far ahead. If you were purely a vampire you’d become part of Tyrion’s problems, not hers. You wouldn’t be a wolf anymore,” Arya whispered. She wrinkled her nose. “Sansa is losing grasp of…of whatever is left of her. I know she went through a lot during the war. She’s been through a lot in general, but…just be careful.” She rose on her toes and kissed his cheek, before giving him a tight hug.

He wrapped his arms tight around her, his eyes closing as he held his little sister close. He squeezed a little harder, wanting to just savor a family member for a moment, when he heard a little squeak. He loosened his grip, ducking his head in apology. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Arya rubbed her shoulder, chuckling. “Sometimes I forget you are the strongest of us.”

_Not that strong._ He kissed the top of her head. “Thanks for letting me know.”

“Don’t do anything without letting me know first,” she warned. She let go of him and stepped away, going to the door and knocking lightly on the frame before she turned and smiled at him, her eyes rolling again. “And I may not like your wife because she’s a vampire, but…she does love you and I’ll take that.”

That was all he could ask for at this point. He smiled briefly. “You should come by the manse.”

It was a bit of an unfair tradeoff, but it was something she had acquiesced to Sansa after the Great War. The vampires did not venture above The Neck, but the wolves were allowed to go south, provided they notified the vampire family in charge of the area where they planned to visit. He figured letting him know she would be at Dragonstone was good enough. “I don’t think I’m quite ready for full-blown vampire,” she admitted. She lifted her fingers in a slightly wave and disappeared.

He kept his ear honed to the door, listening as she padded away and closing his eyes when he briefly smelled the scent of wolf and then the crush of branches beneath feet, taking off north. He finished off his glass of scotch and closed up the office, jogging down the stairs and slipping through the bar, filled with even more loons, drunk and partying, women using the holiday as an excuse to wear lingerie and call themselves ‘sexy cats’ or ‘sexy trees’ or whatever. Men using the excuse to play pranks and trick others.

As he walked out, he slipped by a group of people dressed as vampires and werewolves, chuckling at the absurdity of their costumes. He entered an alley by the bar and paused. Listened. Sniffed. His lip curled as he fangs emerged, disappointed in the lackey’s poor reconnaissance. He glanced around, didn’t smell or hear anyone else, and shifted immediately, turning and looking back down the alley behind him.

He growled, padding silently, his wolf form able to smell even farther and fainter than when he was human. The mortals who saw him in his wolf form referred to him as ‘the Ghost’, as did many of the other northern packs, because he was far more silent than any other wolf they knew. He kept to the walls and heard the footsteps. He bared his teeth and leaned back on his haunches, hair rising up along his neck and spine as his muscles corded and tensed, preparing to launch at the threat.

The footsoldier had the silver stake in his black gloved hands, turning and trying to ascertain where he’d gone, listening and sniffing, but he must have been a young vamp, without the experience to know what he was even looking for exactly, especially when he’d lost it. He made a sound in the back of his throat, about ready to attack when a blur moved by him, his fur ruffling at the movement.

The blur moved, snapping the neck of the soldier, who whimpered and fell to the ground, not dead but knocked out for the foreseeable future. He uncoiled and sat on his haunches, watching as Dany wrapped up the wrists and ankles of the soldier with silver cord. She lifted him like he was nothing and walked over to her car, throwing the body into the trunk.

He trotted after and jumped up into the front seat as she slid into the driver side. She opened her glove compartment and removed a dog biscuit, offering it to him. He wrinkled his nose; he hated those things, people always insited on offering them when they saw him, thinking him a stray. He growled. She chuckled. “Thought you might want a snack, darling.” She leaned down and kissed the top of his head and he licked her hand, settling down in the front seat and placing his head on her knee.

She ruffled her ears, her voice warning: “Do not drool on the leather, I just got this car detailed.”

He couldn’t laugh in his wolf state, so he simply hummed happily. He hopped into the backseat of the sports car, which didn't afford him a lot of room anyway, and rolled on the backseat, enjoying the feel of hte buttery leather. She hissed at him as he jumped back up front, muttering something about his shedding situation. He placed his head back down onto her knee, sighing in contentment, and closed his eyes, taking a brief nap as she headed south towards the manse.

~/~/~/~

“Darling you have blood on your pretty white fur.” Dany reached for a rag and wiped at the spattering of blood over Jon’s muzzle, but he merely darted his tongue out to lick at it before turning back to the Lannister footsoldier, who was groaning in pain at the silver ties holding him to the chair and the fact that a wolf was slowly eating away at the wounds.

The soldier shook his head, referring to himself only as Hill. A bastard name from the West, she knew. “You both are sick,” he spat out.

“What would be sick is if I do this.” She leaned down and pressed a kiss to Jon’s nose, some of the blood transferring to her lips. She licked at them and smiled briefly at the man’s disgusted expression. “Aw, I forgot, most of the Westerlands doesn’t approve of the wolf and vampire relationship.” She picked at some dried blood under her fingernails. She sighed. “You know your dearly beloved Cersei and Jaime Lannister?”

“Heroes,” he said, referring to the twins who had died in the Great War.

She rolled her eyes. “Cowards. Also, fucking each other, but your Great Lion never wanted that to get out.”

“Lies.”

“Hmm.” She nodded to Grey Worm, who removed a silver knife from his toolchest. She lifted her ear at the sound of the doorbell gonging throughout the manse. She chuckled. “I have guests. Come along darling.” She left Hill to Grey Worm, who would get an answer out of him. Maybe. She walked up the stairs, checked her reflection in the mirror, and satisfied with the old fashioned high-necked red and black gown she’d changed into when they got home, she went to the front door.

It took a moment, but she tugged it open, smiling wide at the group of children who were standing outside of the massive oak doors. “Trick of treat!” a chorus of little voices called, lifting up bags and buckets.

She grinned, her fangs out and her eyes dark violet, the light from the old-fashioned oil lamps on either side of her door glinting on the sharp incisors. “Oh you all look lovely!” She grabbed the ornamental bowl from Qohor that was sitting on the stand by the door, offering it to everyone. “Take as much as you want! There’s plenty more!”

As they selected candy and she complimented the costumes, a little girl in a vampire outfit approached, frowning at her. “Your teeth are so real!” she exclaimed.

Another grin and flash. She leaned in, winking. “They are real,” she whispered. She tweaked the little girl’s nose. Her heart gave a horrible clench in her chest and she tried not to let the tears fall. The little girl laughed, said that vampires weren’t real, collected her candy and ran off to join her friends and the parents waiting nearby on the walkway.

Jon came to lean against her, his great head rubbing at her thigh. She dug her fingers into his neck, holding tight as another group of children walked up, courage of visiting the ‘scary house’ buoyed by the other kids who went up and returned unscathed. She continued to pass out candy to them, admiring costumes, and allowing them each to pet her ‘doggy.’

A little boy with dark springy curls and bright blue eyes approached, wearing a dragon outfit. She stared at him, unable to tear away her gaze, and he smiled, a dimple in his cheek. He offered his bucket, shaped in a smiling pumpkin, and his parents stood behind him. “Trick or treat!” he shouted.

The tear tracked down her cheek before she realized and she hurriedly wiped at it, offering the bowl. “Take your pick,” she said. She pointed to one of the chocolate bars from Braavos. “This is my favorite one.”

“Mine too!”

“You are a very handsome dragon,” she complimented. He had on a little suit that had black and red scales. He wore mittens over his hands that were shaped like claws and felt wings stretched out from his back. It made her think of her child. She missed him so much it was like a piece of her was gone forever. In a way it was. She pointed to the lamps and to the doorknocker. “I myself am very fond of dragons.”

The boy growled and lifted his hands up, shaping them into claws. “I’m Drogon the Black Shadow!” He stomped around in a circle, still growling. Then he giggled, jumping in place. “Bye bye!”

The boy’s mother smiled politely at her. “Thank you, he really wanted to come here, he loves dragons. He keeps saying that this house has dragons, but…” The woman frowned briefly and glanced at Jon, who cocked his head. “We just say sometimes there’s a wolf…his eyes are very red.”

“He’s a werewolf,” Dany explained. The woman stared at her for a brief moment, surprised. She laughed. “Just kidding. Your son is adorable.” She watched the little boy skip back down the path. Her voice cracked. “My son was just like him.”

The woman frowned a little more and simply nodded. She gestured to her. “Your costume is very…realistic.”

Dany pulled her lips back over her teeth, fangs still exposed. “Thank you. Have a good spooky evening.” She waited for the woman to leave before she closed the door and set the candy aside. She sniffed, closing her eyes and reaching to wipe at them, feeling foolish. It was just a stupid holiday the mortals put on to dress up and pretend they knew what had truly happened in the Great War.

A whoosh of Jon shifting and then reaching for her was what did it. She cried into his chest, feeling him lift at her. She curled into him, a ball of velvet and lace, and didn’t move even when he’d climbed onto one of the settees in the great parlor, the fire crackling merrily before them. She felt anything but merry at that moment, her heart yearning for something she could never have and she’d made her peace with over the last couple thousand years. She kissed at Jon’s warm chest, nuzzling into his sternum and feeling his grip tighten around her. Her long velvet skirts covered him and she tugged at the edge of one, wrapping it further around his torso so they were completely entangled.

She tapped her fingers atop his shoulder. “It’s just a dumb mortal holiday,” she mumbled. His fingers began to stroke lightly over her braids, flipping the ends absently. She sighed. “I like that the children are happy and can enjoy themselves. I like to see it.”

“Our children would have been beautiful,” he whispered.

_They never could have existed._ Vampires didn’t have children and he was neither vampire nor wolf, but both. There was no way they’d be able to have their own biological child. She had contemplated adoption, raising orphans with him, but neither could bear the idea that the child would live only a blink of an eye to them. They couldn’t raise a child and then bury them, over and over again, seeing them age while they stayed the same.

The brief time she had spent as a mortal, she had given birth. Her son had lived only days. She wondered what would have happened had Rhaego survived. Would Viserys still have turned her? Would she even want to live forever? It didn’t matter. It happened and here she was. She could never have children with the only man she had ever truly loved and had to be satisfied with seeing the happiness in others. Even if it broke her to do so.

She sighed into him. Sometimes she wondered whatever she would have done without him or if she would have lived as long as she had or kept her grip on power this long without having someone to share the joys and the pain with. “I love you, my darling wolf.”

“And I love you, my beautiful vampire.” He dropped his lips to hers, kissing softly. Almost chaste. She pressed harder against him. She wanted him. She needed him. They had to deal with this mess with the Lannisters and with Sansa, but right now she wanted him. They had all night to deal with this mess. That was nothing to her. She climbed from his lap, unfolding off the settee and took his hand, drawing him up to his feet.

With another kiss, this one so gentle it could have shattered her, he lifted her, weightless, and her legs wrapped around his waist, her skirt pushed up to her waist, providing freedom of movement. He was already responding to her kisses and her fingers pushing languidly through his hair. He kept his wide hands firmly on her bottom, locking her against him as he carried her from the parlor and up the stairs to her room. _Their room._

As much as she wanted to return down to the door and greet the other children, she wanted him more in that moment. She felt the pillows and fluffy duvet beneath her and sighed as his lips broke from hers, slowly making their way across her chest, exposing more skin to his taste as he gently removed her dress. She helped him when she could, lying back again when she was completely naked and drawing him atop her once more.

Sometimes she thought about when they’d shared their very first kiss, when they’d joined for the very first time. It had been so sweet, as she looked back on it with the lens of what they’d been through since. It was so full of curiosity, searching, and desperate love, scared the other might suddenly change their minds or they would realize the enormity of what was happening between them. Their love would complicate matters greatly, but they didn’t care, because they just wanted each other.

It had been Jon who made the first move, she remembered, coming to the cabin of her ship as they sailed from the south where he’d gone to seek her assistance in the war against the Night King. They were returning north and when she pulled the door open to reveal him on the threshold, she had felt so much relief and excitement.

His mouth loved at her breasts and kissed down over her belly, paying gentle attention there, his hand wide and warm as he crossed over it. She lightly touched her fingers to his, knowing what he was thinking. If they weren’t what they were, if they weren’t the _monsters_ they were, perhaps they could have had a child. She watched, through slit eyelids, and he covered her with his mouth, this tongue caressing her long and slow, lapping at what she created, from desire for him alone. She gasped and keened, her arms slung over her head and fingers gripping the base of the headboard as he used both mouth and fingers to stroke at her, sliding and rubbing, bringing her just to the very edge before pulling back.

They had the rest of time, she thought through the thick cloud of pleasure that covered them. His fingers removed from her, he used them to lift her knees up and she helped him, bracing her feet flat on the bed as he continued his ministrations. “I need you,” she begged, looking down at him, his eyes black and his hair tousled about his face. He looked like a carved marble angel, she thought, or perhaps a devil, the way he kissed at the inside of her thigh before he moved off of her.

His arms around her, he settled behind her, tugging her back flush against his chest. With his fingers still tangled between her legs, she joined hers to them, letting him show her how he wanted her to move. “Like that,” he whispered, kissing behind her ear as she pressed her index finger into her. He slid his hand over her hip, gently guiding her back, her leg lifting and hooking backwards over his hip as he nudged her other one forward a bit with his knee, opening her to him.

Thousands of years and it was like the first time, she thought with a soft cry as he pushed into her suddenly, her body pitching forward slightly before he pulled her back to him. She reached backwards, her hand over the back of his neck, keeping his lips locked onto her, where they were biting gently at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. He moved so slow she bucked backwards, needing more, and he obliged, his thrusts speeding up, almost pulling completely free before thrusting back to the hilt, bumping against her now useless womb.

She could feel the wolf inside of him threatened to break free as he began to speed his thrusts, but then he’d slow down, trying to prolong it for her, but she couldn’t anymore. She kept her hand gripped at him, turning her head and finding his mouth with hers, the kiss sloppy and wet. She gasped into his mouth, shaking her head. “Jon I can’t,” she sobbed, feeling it building fast, and as much as she wanted to prolong the pleasure, as much as she knew he wanted it, she closed her eyes tight and cried out as her body shuddered around him, clenching tight at the fullness inside of her.

He continued to push her through the waves that battered her, his fingers rubbing and pulling and his other hand tucked around her body, allowing him to pinch and roll her nipples. “Keep going,” he coaxed, as she felt another wave hit her, this one enough for him to begin losing control, the hard driving of him into her intensifying as she squeezed around him. He bit down on her shoulder and she felt the skin break, her hand gripping tight at his, pressing hard against the base of him, disappearing into her again and again.

It didn’t take long after, her kisses drawing it from him as he moaned into her, body shaking as he succumbed to the same forces as her, muscles quaking from the intensity. He moved to pull from her, but she stilled him, shaking her head and closing her eyes, keeping her leg tugged back and her foot hooked over his thigh. “No,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Stay inside me. For a bit longer.”

He kissed the back of her neck and their arms twined together around her waist. She closed her eyes and felt him only move to tug one of the blankets around them. After a bit, he pulled free from her and got up, silently moving to the other side of the room and picking up one of the in-house phones. She tilted her head slightly, hearing him speak.

“Anything from him?” A long pause. “Very well. We’ll return the body ourselves.” Pause. “Not tonight, put him on ice for now. I don’t want anything to disturb her.” Another pause. “Oh and set that bowl of candy outside for the kids and make sure that the donation gets to the orphanage for their party tonight, I think she would like that.” Pause. “Thank you Grey Worm.” The phone clicked as the handset went back into the cradle.

He returned to the bed and she purred, turning to look up at him. “You’re too good to me,” she whispered, kissing softly. She patted at his cheek. “What did he say?”

“I don’t want to upset you.”

“You won’t upset me.”

Jon sighed, crawling beneath the blankets and drawing her against his chest. Her hair splayed out over his shoulders and he began to idly tug on the ends. He twisted one around his palm, not answering. She could feel the unease waft off of him. “He said that he was hired to kill me. By the Red Wolf.”

Her eyes flickered shut. She squeezed his wrists so tight she felt her nails break into his skin. He held her just as tight and his lips pressed to her temple, reassuring her as much as him. “I am so sorry,” she whispered. It was so unnecessary. She chewed on her lower lip, her eyebrows lifting. “Sometimes I wish we had never left that cabin on the boat. Stayed there forever. Driven silver stakes into each other’s hearts to just end it. Be together forever.”

“Me too.”

She looked up, the black of desire and anger having faded his eyes back to their normal gray. They were so sad. She hated when he was sad, he just wanted to live what _normal_ of a life he could. It was why he’d given up the alpha position. It seemed even that didn’t matter in the end. “We’ll deal with this,” she said. She drew his hand to her lips, kissing his knuckles and squeezing. She felt the dragon unfurl inside of her, yawning and stretching after a long nap. “We’ll kill them all.”

“Burn them all,” he breathed, staring out at nothing.

She nodded in agreement. “We’ll visit Tyrion in the morning.” The Lannisters couldn’t day-walk like her or Jon. They’d catch them off guard. They’ll deal with this accordingly. She tilted her head backwards and brushed a tender kiss on his cheek. He turned slightly so he could capture her mouth with his.

After a moment, he broke first, his mouth still hovering over hers. He kept his eyes on her and she could see straight through to his soul. Dark and damaged as hers. “_Avy jorrāelan. Sīr olvie."  
_

The words of her native tongue filled her with so much love she wanted to burst. “So much,” she agreed. She knew that others thought their love strange and unnatural. Including his family. Including some of her closest advisors, but it was powerful. “I love you, so much, too.” She stayed awake, still tangled in him, her back to his chest, and did not move or attempt to sleep, until she was satisfied his breathing had evening out beneath her and she felt his arms go slightly slack as he rested.

They’d deal with this tomorrow and when it was over, maybe, just maybe, she and Jon could finally have a few hundred years of peace to themselves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading if you managed to get through that. 
> 
> Next Time: Dany and Jon visit Tyrion in the lion's lair; Tyrion gives Jon a warning about Dany's goals; and a bloody fight has Dany dragging Jon to the Paw Wash- he is not pleased (because it can't all be supernatural politics.)
> 
> Final Chapter: Sansa challenges Jon for alpha; Jon must pass a sentence; Dany and Jon start a new chapter.


	4. decisions decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Dany visit with Tyrion; a battle with wolves leaves Jon exhausted and Dany helping him recover in an unlikely way; on the eve of battle Jon worries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finishing this fic before Halloween and before I leave for vacation. Bringing me to two fics and a half (I have another idea for my Ghost POV I'm trying to get done).
> 
> Enjoy!

_“Nothing is so painful to the human mind as a great and sudden change.”_

_ **\- Mary Shelley, Frankenstein** _

_“Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful.”_

** _\- Mary Shelley, Frankenstein_ **

“I really hate this part of the country.”

“Don’t let them hear you say that, aren’t you their queen?”

Dany smirked, her fingers tapping on the steering wheel as they sped through the Reach towards the Westerlands, where the Lannisters maintained their control. Or whatever control she let them have. She was annoyed that she had to make the journey to them, but it was necessary. She could walk around in the daylight, courtesy of her bloodline as the dragon and the fact she was queen. Jon was whatever he was and it gave him greater powers than most all of them combined. The Lannisters liked to think themselves special and more important than all the other families, but save for the Dornish vampires, they were as _normal_ as a vampire could be.

Nothing more than the ability to hear better, run faster, and lift heavier objects. They still had to be invited in by mortals, still couldn’t walk in the sun, silver harmed them, and a stake to the heart would kill them. Lannisters were just more pompous and self-important and liked to think they were cleverer. They used to be, she would admit that, the Great Lion Tywin was highly intelligence until a crossbow stake to the heart by his son Tyrion undid him. The twins stabbed each other during the war, Queen Cersei used to be the ruler of all, but her vile ways and obsession with power had been her downfall. While Drogon roasted all her soldiers, sending them to the true death, she had attempted to flee, but her brother Jaime had made sure she would never live without him and he without her.

She had been disappointed; she had promised Drogon a feast on royalty but oh well. They were gone and Tyrion had been her advisor for some time before she sent him back to maintain control over the Western vampires. Now he was an annoying little bugger, clearly not content to keep his promises, and fighting her control with the help of the Red Wolf. She scowled, a line in her brow marring the smooth skin of her forehead.

Beside her, he slouched in his seat, sunglasses on and his fingers lightly pressed to his temple. They had had a lot to drink the night before, but she knew he did not like the sunlight. He was a creature of cold and dark and gloom. Sunlight was fire and heat and everything he was not, save for when he was around her. She took a moment to admire how the black shirt he wore clung to the hard planes of his muscles, veins lightly popped and pale blue against his moonglow skin.

In spite of herself, she felt her fangs emerge and she inhaled deeply, eyes blowing black over her violet irises at the wonderful scent of him. To the others he was wet dog, a wolf and everything they detested, but to her he was wonderful and the only thing that could force her to pull the car over to the side of the road and fuck him until neither could walk. She hadn’t had him like that in a couple days; they had cocooned themselves against the world in the manse, preferring to make love long and slow through the evening and into the day, ignoring the responsibilities of the rest of their lives.

He grunted beside her, but didn’t move. “I can smell you,” he mumbled.

“Smell what?”

Fingers shot over the gearshift and in between her legs, pressing his palm to the leather leggings she wore beneath her long black and red coat, the base of his wrist bumping hard against her clit, sending a shock of want straight to her heart. “Smell this,” he drawled, still not moving from where he was slouched in the seat. He lifted his knee up a bit, the heel of his boot catching on the seat’s leather. “Pull over.”

“We have to get this body to Tyrion,” she groaned as he tapped out a pleasing rhythm against her through the leather. She jerked the steering wheel, speeding off the highway towards the Reach. Olenna Tyrell was the head of the Reach, she would forgive them for using the forests for this purpose, if she ever found out. She flung the car into park once she got to a slightly secluded area, jerking him against her as she crushed her mouth to his. “Fuck me now.”

“Hmm, as my queen commands.”

~/~/~/~

“Ugh, he stinks, why’d you bring a wolf here?”

He rolled his eyes as one of the Lannister guards at the gate of Casterly Rock peered into the car. He barely glanced at them; the vampires always wondered what lay underneath the smell of wolf. They had never understood just what else he could possibly be, because no one could think that there was anything other than the two different species. Three, if you included other shifters. The guard refused to leave the safe, dark confines of the guard shack, blocked from the sunlight. “Come over here and find out,” he said, grinning over his exposed canines. He didn’t let them extend further than they already were.

The guard wrinkled his nose and glanced at Dany, bowing his head slightly in reverence. “Your Grace, Lord Tyrion did not know you were coming, I’ll just ring him…”

“No need,” Dany said, flicking her hand at him. She glared at the barrier crossed before the road leading up to the Lannsiter compound, Casterly Rock. “Just lift the barrier. I’ll see him in a moment.”

“But Your Grace…”

She lowered her sunglasses, her eyes meeting his. The ability of a vampire to glamor another vampire only laid with her. She stared at him for a moment, her voice soft, haunting and suggestive. “You will open the gate and let me through. You will not tell your master of your ignorance…if you do, you will walk out of that shack and stand in the sunlight.”

He shivered beside her, feeling the suggestive elements himself, glancing out beyond the car to the giant stone manor atop the cliff. Stone lions roared up the drive to a fountain of three lions attacking a dragon. _Subtle._ He shifted in the passenger seat, uncomfortable at the sudden blanket of teasing and suggestion that covered him. She couldn’t glamor him, but she could sure make him do things that he didn’t want to do, simply by smiling and batting those beautiful violet eyes at him. He tilted his head back, fangs emerging and his kept his mouth closed over them. _No need to give away the farm._

“You are a fucking pervert.”

“Says the woman who couldn’t make it one trip without pulling over to fuck,” he snapped. He ran his tongue over the fangs, pushing at them to retract, which they eventually did as she pulled her sleek black Ferrari up to the front of the manor. He waited for the door to sling up, sliding out and waiting for her to exit before he lifted open the trunk, or what amounted to the trunk.

She reached in and took out the burlap sack, holding it loosely under one arm as she marched up the stairs to the manor doors, not waiting for entry and barging in, kicking the door open with the heel of her knee-high leather boot. He growled in the back of his throat; he loved when she went full-blown queen on her subjects. Her black and red coat resembled the scales of a dragon, fluttering about her knees, her leather leggings making swishing sounds as she walked through the front hall, the silver hair left hanging from her braided hairstyle bouncing along the base of her shoulder-blades.

He followed lazily. The various vampire servants around hissed and scowled at him, the wolf scent flooding through the residence. He smiled, reaching to remove his sunglasses and hanging them off the collar of his button-down. His hands shoved into his pockets, his walk a rolling gait like if he were in his wolf form. He hoped he wouldn’t have to shift; he really liked this shirt and would hate to lose it in a vampire den.

They made their way to the solar in the back, the ceiling giving an illusion of sunlight over the white marble and bleached stone. He came to a stop at her side, surveying Tyrion Lannister seated at a giant oak desk in the shape of a lion, a bar set up inside the lion’s snarling mouth, at just the perfect height for the dwarf. He frowned briefly; he hadn’t seen Tyrion in several hundred years. They had not been kind. Or perhaps it was all the drink. Or the source of blood. He scowled at the other vampires who were glaring at him, their nsoes wrinkling.

Tyrion set down the goblet of whatever vice he happened to be drinking at the moment. He tapped his fingers against it, studying them both. He chuckled. “Jon Snow. Long time, no see.” He sniffed and his eyes darkened as he made a face. “You brought a wolf into my home, Daenerys, you know that’s going to take time to fade.”

“He does take some getting used to.”

“Better than vamp,” he growled.

Dany lifted her jaw, her fangs emerging as she scowled at Tyrion, who simply drank slowly from the goblet, eyes on her, waiting. No doubt his brain was working in overdrive, figuring what to do. “I hear you’ve been playing with puppies.” She tsked, wagging her finger from side to side. “You really shouldn’t. You might get bit.”

As her guard dog, he played the part, growling in the back of his throat, hands on his hips, warning as he watched one of the soldiers take a step towards them, hand on the silver on his hip. He couldn’t help his lips curl over his teeth. “Watch it,” he warned.

Tyrion tapped his fingers on the desk, but did not climb off the chair or walk around to stand beside them. Power move, since he would be giving up the high ground to the queen, although eh really should have, as the decorum dictated. He glared over at Jon. “Why did you bring your wolf into my home? Do you want to start a fuckign war?”

“Oh you’ve done that already, Little Lion.” She flung down the burlap sack, kicking it back to reveal the dead Lannister soldier. Tyrion glared up at her, fuming silently. His knuckles cracked around the stem of the goblet. “This one almost killed Jon. I’ve sent you at least five more over the last week. It’s tedious, Lord Tyrion, and I’m getting bored.”

“I don’t know what you speak of, I have nothing to do with these men in your lands.”

She snorted. “Oh stuff it. You and I both know you’ve hated me since I burned down King’s Landing in the War of 1800.”

“There were humans you burned!”

“Like you have ever cared about the humans. You wanted your sister dead and you helped me do it and when it finally happened, you decided it was too much for you. You sit here in your father’s home, spending his gold and drinking his wine, and you pretend like you earned it,” she spat. She kicked at the dead body in front of her. “And unfortunately you are sacrificing your people for this ridiculous fucking war.”

There was one thing that Jon loved about Dany, but one thing he hated too. He could see it in her now, the way she stood, slightly confrontational, but allowing her weaknesses to be exposed. If a wolf did that to anyone they might as well be asking for an attack. He kept his eyes moving, never stopping long enough beyond assessing, on the alert for any and all potential threats. They were going to both walk out of here alive and without a scratch. Dany trusted people who she thought were like her; people on the down and out, people who needed someone to protect them and save them…Tyrion was that once upon a time ago. Shunned by his family, made to think he was less because he was a dwarf, and hated because it was his birth that killed his mother.

There had been so many mistakes made during the war that were attributable to Tyrion and Tyrion alone. Jon sometimes wondered if he’d been fucking them over from the beginning, in an effort to drive Dany to the brink of her sanity, to bring out the madness that coursed through her family’s history. So in the end he could be the one with the most control; he could be the one who ruled, maybe not in name but as the Hand of the Queen. Or King, for that matter, as he had sidled up to Jon during the war, but why, Jon never knew, because he was a wolf and only a wolf—he had no control in the affairs of vampires.

_Little did Tyrion know of course._

And after everything that he had done to her, Dany still had a big heart, as ruthless as she could be, and she still thought perhaps maybe Tyrion might try to help her. He supposed it was similar to his regard for his sister. He moved closer to Dany, watching the soldiers take a step closer as she moved towards Tyrion. “You must know that meddling in the affairs of the wolves is forbidden and if you don’t, then you are more inept than I ever realized,” she said.

“I still don’t know of what you speak, Your Grace. The wolves keep to the North.” He glanced his green eyes towards Jon, quirking his lip and tilting his goblet towards him. “Unless of course they are your personal pet.”

“I’m not her pet,” he hissed.

“Hmm…so you say.”

She hissed at Tyrion, her fingers curling into claws. “Watch it Tyrion. Your henchmen have all confessed to being paid and sent on the orders of Sansa Stark.”

“And you believe them? Of course they will blame a wolf. They would want you to start a war.”

“And why would any of them pledge allegiance to a wolf and risk the Lannister wrath?” She twisted her lips into a harsh smile. “I am not stupid, Tyrion, try as you might to hope I may be. It isn’t just to kill me, but my _pet_ as you say. The only ones who want us both dead are you and the Red Wolf. You continue to play this game and I will no longer find it to be a minor annoyance, I will burn this manor and everyone in it to the ground.”

Tyrion dropped his gaze to hers again, his voice soft. “Sansa Stark has nothing that I need.”

“But you have what she needs,” she breathed, approaching the desk. She leaned on the oak, her fingers clutching at the edges, sending cracks through the petrified wood. It forced Tyrion to lean back slightly, the barely acknowledgment he was alarmed. “You become King, you rid the world of me, and you can give her the shifters too. She could become Queen in the North and the South…whatever her fancy little girl heart wants.”

He chuckled, but it was slow and the smile did not meet his eyes. “And what would her brother have to say about that?” He glanced sideways. “You are the alpha, are you not?”

“In name,” he acknowledged. He knew that Tyrion should not be meddling in wolf affairs. It was none of their concern and part of the treaty agreement. He growled. “Which is why it’s curious they have also been targeting me as well. You really should not have used your soldiers, Tyrion, they give up too easy when subjected to…” He snarled. “Wolf.”

They clearly had not anticipated that Dany would be with him at the moment. Perhaps Sansa even told them of the _falling out_ and made the mistake that he and Dany were at war again. It showed what little she knew and understood of love. It saddened him, for the girl she used to be, and the woman and wolf she’d become. Hardened and full of hate.

“I hope they did not suffer too much,” Tyrion said.

“As if you truly cared.”

Dany stepped between them. She gestured to the body. “I have returned your latest casualty of this war. I offer you a truce. You leave the war to the wolves, recuse yourself entirely, and you may continue to live your life. You keep this up, you keep up your wolf alliance, and you will burn.” She pointed her finger to the ceiling, grinning wide. “You hate so much that I can see why lies beyond this glass. It is beautiful Tyrion, would you like to see one day? I can arrange it, of course.”

The current Lord of the Rock gripped at his goblet so tight that red poured over the edge when he jerked it angrily to the side. He said nothing and she merely smiled, nodding briskly before turning and striding out of the room, ever the queen. It left the wolf and the vampire lion, the rest of the foot soldiers retreating back slightly. Tyrion took the opportunity to look at him, sweep him up and down, and lifted the goblet to his lips. “You don’t look like a vampire.”

Interesting, giving his hand over like that. Smart to wait for Daenerys to depart. “I don’t look much like a wolf either,” he whispered. He smiled briefly. “But I can arrange a demonstration of both, if you would like.”

Tyrion chuckled. He sipped the drink. Jon could smell it was a combination of blood and Dornish Red. “You do know what she is planning for our species, do you not? What she wants to accomplish with this newfound care for her rule? She disappeared to Essos for the last few years. We all have come to the realization she is losing it. She is drifting to the madness.”

The disappearance to Essos was directly related to the last fight. It had nothing to do with the politics of war. Besides, she had made great inroads with the vampires of the East. He would not engage Tyrion on that though. It was none of his _fucking_ business. He glanced sideways to the lion. “And why would you think she is drifting to madness?” She hadn’t done anything significant to make anyone, including him, think her _dragon_ had emerged.

“So you don’t know, interesting.”

He was weary of Tyrion and he wanted to leave. He was growing angrier the longer the stayed as well. He could not believe Sansa told him the secret. Broke the pact. Risked her life for this monster before him. And for what? More power and control? What had happened to his family? “Don’t know what?” he found himself asking. He hated that he was out of the loop and this one was telling him the full story. He growled. “And don’t waste my time.”

He hopped off the chair, walking around the front of the desk, looking up at him, quiet. “I can make you the king you know. Unite everyone under your rule. Wolf and vampire together for the first time in history, since we joined for the fight in the Long Night. It would be poetic, on the anniversary of the ending of the war…wouldn’t you agree?”

“And why would I agree to that?” _He was betraying Sansa now too, how lovely._

“Because you don’t want her to do what she wants to do.”

“And what’s that, because I am curious.” He felt his heart beat faster, hoped like _fucking hell_ Tyrion couldn’t hear it, but the quirk of the dwarf’s lip had him furious at his wolf-side.

Tyrion chuckled again and walked to the bar inside of the lion’s mouth, removing some wine and pouring himself a fresh glass. “She wants to go synthetic. No more killing, no more human feasting.”

_And that was what had them all ready to rebel?_ He chuckled. “So?”

“Oh little wolf, you have no idea do you? The new synthetic blood has proven to be disastrous for our kind.” He studied him, looking over the rim of the glass, his voice soft. “We go synthetic and we die. We kill humans and she kills us. We can no longer turn anyone without her approval. She’s stepping off the edge, Jon Snow, and we cannot allow that to happen, for the sake of our species. I am not the only one worried.”

_Dany wanted to end the vampires as they knew it._ He lifted his chin slightly. They could feast from each other, but it wasn’t the same. Blood fresh from the source had more of an effect on the powers. The glamor was stronger, their strength and speed, and even the rush could prevent the effects of silver for a short time. He cocked his head briefly, wondering just what game she was playing. He tried to smile, but it was tight and did nothing but make his heart beat faster in frustration. “And so you have united with my sister. You both get what you want. Daenerys Targareyn gone, the wolves in charge of all shifters, and you as the King of the Vampries.”

“Unless you want to be our king,” he said, voice quiet. He arched a brow. “Your sister told me because she knew it was the best alternative to her rule as well.”

“My sister told you about me because it gave her the bona-fides with you,” he snapped. He could not forgive it. He glanced over his shoulder to the door, where Dany had walked through before. He took a step backwards. “Goodbye Tyrion. Think about her offer.”

“And think about mine. We do not have a lot of time.”

There was more to it. If Sansa backed Tyrion Lannister for the King of the Vampires, she could have the shifters, the North, and she would provide them as soldiers in the war against the vampires. She could use her brother—her cousin’s—ancestry as a hybrid to get them to fight. To oust Dany, give her the power she craved, and then he could kill him. Or try to kill him. She knew he would never betray Dany.

Although that’s exactly what it sounded like Tyrion wanted him to do.

He heard it in the dwarf’s words, the subtle suggestion there. _Get rid of her and it will all go away._ He walked down the corridors, stopping before he exited to put on his sunglasses. The sun always hurt his eyes. He sometimes thought it was because when he shifted he was albino—Dany said he just didn’t like the sun, nothing more or less. He took a deep breath and stepped out, jogging down to join Dany in the car.

“What did he say?”

“He wants me to kill you.”

“That’s unfortunate.” She jammed the gearshift into drive and hit her foot onto the accelerator. She sighed, sad. “I really liked him once upon a time ago.”

Things were certainly easier then. He leaned his head against her shoulder, staring out the windshield as they accelerated towards the highway, to make their way back across the long stretch of country to the manse. Or even to his bar, he hoped, wanting to return to some _normalcy_ for a minute. Especially now that the Long Night holiday was coming to a close. There was only about one more day of generalized festivities before everyone returned to living without costumes and pranks.

He patted her hand with his. “It’s going to be okay Dany.” She said nothing, but squeezed his hand. He wasn’t sure he believed himself either.

~/~/~/~

They were ambushed by the manse.

The drive back had taken most of the day; they’d stopped at Highgarden to visit with the Dowager Lady Tyrell, who had scoffed at having a wolf in her pretty flowered estate, so he’d had to stay outside like a _fucking dog._ Dany hadn’t been long, just secured her allegiance and off they went. He still didn’t bring up the decisions she was planning to make with the vampire species. He didn’t think it was as bad as Tyrion indicated. It would be a great change.

And no one ever liked change.

They were driving towards the gates of Dragonstone when he heard them. “Stop!” he exclaimed, shifting almost immediately as out of nowhere a pack of sixty or so wolves descended on them. There were falcons too—the Eerie had made their allegiance it seemed. He was glad to see no stags in the mix. He was the largest of them all and that must have been why Sansa had sent more than a couple to take him down. She probably had had enough of Tyrion sending the weaklings to try to take him out.

The doors of the Ferrari swung open and she was out in a flash, a blur of speed and force, knocking through them all, but there were too many. He was solely focused on _her._

_Protect Dany. Protect Dany. MineMineMine._

He tore at throats where he could, let out a screech of pain as someone grabbed hold of his ear and yanked. He tasted blood; he both savored and despised it, willing the vampire side to stay dormant so he wouldn’t accidentally shift back. He could see Dany out of the corner of his eye, backflipping away from a falcon that had gone for her eyes. They were trying to take out her ears too, break the supersonic hearing she had, but she was too fast.

He should have let her feed before they got home, he thought idly, tearing out the throat of a wolf he realized was a Karstark. He felt bad; these were his people. Some might even be his kin, distant though that was. He couldn’t hear their thoughts; he was not the king right now. He had gone lone. He hated it. He let out a howl, raspy and pained, hoping that Arya had returned North.

The smell of blood would draw forward others; they had to get out of there once they finished. Send the Unsullied to do a cleanup. He watched the falcons screech and fly off when Dany launched herself at them; surprising them with her ability of short flight. She ripped a few from the sky, gnashing her fangs. He remembered when she would ride on the back of Drogon, fire made flesh, and rain fire down on those beneath her.

Now she was the dragon. He could see it in her eyes, the flashing red and the snarls and hisses and screeches from her throat. He managed to break the leg of an Umber, but not before a Flint managed to cut their claws into his cheek. He yipped, pain radiating through him. He felt weak and sluggish, needing to feed but unable to shift yet. He was spent. He snapped the neck of someone else in his jaws; he could not even tell who they were now.

Others began to scatter, off to lick their wounds and return to their lairs. They thought they had come to do what they needed to do. Scare the Dragon Queen and her wolf lover into submission. Perhaps they did not think he would be there too. He fell onto the ground, Dany crawling over to him, whimpering as she rubbed at his head, her lips trailing over his face. “Darling,” she cooed, planting kisses along his muzzle. He closed his eyes, exhausted. There was no way he could shift yet. She lifted her wrist up to her lips, biting into it and offering to him.

He licked it slowly, unable to get up to truly drink the nutrition she offered. She reached around to him as her wrist healed up when he finished; he felt the warmth in his chest, but was still unable to bring himself back to his true form. He got to his feet and she helped him up into car. They were still too far from Dragonstone and he couldn’t be this weak. He was achy, bloody, and needed to shift to human form to fully recover.

She sighed, driving off. “You’re not going to like what I’m going to do.”

_What would that be?_ He closed his eyes and tried not to fall asleep; no telling what might happen if he did. He managed to get them open when she came to a stop, staring up at the bright blinking lights of the strip mall in front of them. _Oh gods no._

“Sorry darling, but a hot bath will do wonders for you, come on.” She helped him out of the car, walking slowly towards the back door of the facility. He knew she was right; the sooner he could get the blood of people he knew off of him, he would start to feel better. He just couldn’t believe the humiliation. He growled when she tried to push him in; he would do this himself. He walked in after her as she deftly broke the lock on the back of the building.

All it took was her master code; she owned the major alarm system company for Westeros and had built in a back door so she could access any building she ever wanted that used it. She flicked on a light and reached for a plastic apron, tying it around her blood clothes, which seemed inconsistent, but he wouldn’t question her. “Come on _issa zokla_ into the tub.”

He pushed himself into the silver tub, scowling as best he could in his form, feeling his strength already begin to return when she turned on the hot spray, beginning to run the showerhead over him. He growled when she ducked the hose under him and snapped at her when she tried to lift up his tail. _Manners, Dany._ He licked her hand as she scrubbed around his ears, feeling the pleasure make its way down his spine.

Her deft fingers scrubbed and scratched, soap building and blending with his white fur. The soap turned pink, blood washing off and swirling into the drain as she sprayed him down. He grumbled, looking down at the water dripping from him. She giggled, a pleasant sound he normally would have enjoyed had it not been at his expense. She flicked off the water and he moved to shake, but she held her finger up, warning. “No.”

A growl. “No,” she warned again, eyebrow arching. She hung up the hose with the spray attachment and reached for the dryer attachment, but one look at that and he was scrambling to jump out of the metal tub, nails clicking angrily. She grabbed hold of him, hauling him back and he cursed her strength. “You are not getting in the car sopping wet and you are not, I repeat you are _not_ going to smell of wet dog. You also will not shift right now, I mean it.”

As much as he wanted, if he shifted, he’d be naked and cold and sitting in a metal dog washtub. He growled, baring his teeth and flashing his eyes, but she just smiled and pecked a kiss on his nose. He sneezed; his hair was floating all voer the place. She wiped at the plastic apron she wore, pointing. “See? This is why I detest your shedding. It’s _everywhere._”

He allowed himself to shake his tail out; it was heavy with water and he was not looking forward to the dryer. He braced himself and whined when the dryer came on. She fluffed at the fur around his neck, using a comb to brush back the hair that always stuck up around his ears. He growled as she tried to get to the tail again; he was very particular about his tail. She scrubbed the brush through his spine and he arched against her; it did feel _kind_ of good.

Once she was satisfied that most of his fluffy white fur was dry, she opened the little door to allow him to exit and he hurried out, shaking hard, sending pieces of white fur everywhere, along with droplets of water. She let him wander around the Paw Wash while she cleaned up the tub. He knocked over a bucket of treats, picking out a couple of the bacon ones that for some reason the wolf inside enjoyed. The vampire side did not. What little human he had within him hated it the most, but _meh._

“Hold still.”

He lifted his head, sitting on his haunches, his tongue lolling out as Dany took a picture using the old camera that had been sitting on the Paw Wash desk. She removed the snap, waving it quickly in the air and watched it develop, chuckling as she showed him the result. He looked like a giant marshmallow. He was not pleased. She was, however, and stuck it up on the bulletin board with the rest of the various dogs who visited the establishment. She wiggled her fingers in his ears and walked over to hang up her apron. “Come on, you feeling better?”

The blood and the bath had helped, but he needed to get back to the manse and feed osme more to get the energy to change back. He followed her out and into the car, a cloud of hair following when he shook slightly. She scowled, but said nothing. Her hand in his neck, she drove carefully back up to the manse; the instant she got through the gate she powered the racecar to a blinding speed, slamming it into park at the front.

He hopped out and ran up inside with her. Grey Worm was waiting; she’d probably sent him a text while they were at the Paw Wash. “As you requested, Your Grace.” He handed her a package of blood and she nodded. He briefed her quickly, walking up the stairs to her chambers. “We have upped all security of course, cleaned up the scene, and all allies are on stand-by and preparing for any attack. I’ve also notified the horselords in the event you will be returning to Essos.”

“I’m not leaving,” she announced.

“Your Grace…”

“Grey Worm, I can’t leave just yet.” She patted his shoulder affectionately, her voice soft. “These are the same people that took Missandei from us all those years ago. I will not let them win.”

Jon felt pain clench his heart at the mention of her best friend; the Lannisters had killed Missandei right in front of her. A stake to the heart. She’d turned Missandei herself. Missandei was the only one that Dany had ever actually _made._ The bond between them was more than best friends and sisters. It was blood. He hadn’t been there; he regretted it so much. He hung his head, whining. Grey Worm glanced at him. “Your Grace, we are concerned the wolves can breech our defenses.”

“They won’t, they won’t come for him when he’s here.”

They would when he went North. He would have to get a message to Arya and Bran. He pawed at Dany’s boots, crawling on the ground and whining, hoping she understood what he needed. She nodded and glanced at Grey Worm. “I understand you’ve sent emissaries to the North?”

“To the border, yes. We’ve conveyed through Lord Baratheon that Arya Stark and Bran Stark make contact as soon as possible to assure His Grace that they are safe, so far we have only heard from Bran Stark. He has made his way south.” Grey Worm glanced over at him, speaking directly. “I understand he cannot walk in his human form?”

A nod. They would have to make sure he had a wheelchair available. “It’s taken care of,” she said, voice soft and her fingers massaging at his neck. He closed his eyes, hoping that his siblings could escape any ramification from the attack. Sansa would not go after them; she thought they were on her side. They weren’t alpha contenders. They were too far down the list.

After a few more moments of discussion and preparations, she adjourned to her room and went first to her closet to change. He found a plate on the floor by the fire, no doubt provided by one of her Unsullied, with a giant hunk of beef, still raw and bloody. He pounced on it preferring to have gone hunting himself, but the wolf needed food. She greedily drank her nutrition and for a long time they were quiet, recuperating as best as possible.

When he finished, gnawing on a bone, he felt the rush through him. He closed his eyes and a moment later was lying on his side, shivering slightly. He still felt weak and cold, his eyes unable to open just yet. There were gashes at his arm and he felt his head throb and ache. The scars on his chest from long ago battles and assassination attempts throbbed. “Dany,” he barely got out, a whimpered plea. He needed her. Needed to smell her lemons and lavender and feel her soft skin beneath his.

“_Issa zokla._” She fell to her knees beside him, covering him gently with a thick fur blanket, curling up around him, cradling his head in her lap. Her gentle fingers, which had scrubbed the blood off his fur, now raked through his hair, tugging on the strands, slightly damp, and brushed kisses over his face. “My darling, are you still hurting? Do you need more? Here…” She lifted her wrist up, bit, and offered.

He was almost too tired to feed, but the vampire needed it. His fangs came out and he took from her, feeling her shudder beneath him. It was such an intimate thing, to feed each other, and they’d never fed from anyone else. They never fed without the other’s permission either, so the one time she’d gotten so angry and so heated and so _dragon_ and grabbed at his neck without his permission, he’d snapped her neck and thrown her off a cliff.

They fell into a tangle together, trying to hold the other and provide the comfort, and ultimately found themselves in front of the fire, with her head on his chest and his head tucked around hers, curled around each other as tight as they could be, not allowing a breath to get between them. “This is war now,” she murmured, eyes shut. He thought she might cry. He could hear it in her voice. “I thought it was nothing but they tried to kill you. _She_ tried to kill you. For real this time.”

“Tyrion told me something.” Now that he could speak, he needed to get it off his chest. He tugged at her hair, fallen out of its pins and braids. He frowned, thinking of how they had the close relationship and the love and trust to drink from each other. Many did not. “He said you are encouraging the end of the vampire species, going synthetic…how?”

There was only bagged blood, available on the black market, stolen from hospitals and sometimes provided willingly by humans in the know. Shifters never gave their blood to the vampires as it had a foul taste. He wondered what Tyrion meant by the _synthetic._ “It’s new,” she murmured against his chest. Her fingers tugged at his hair, spinning curls around her fingers. “It’s why I was in Essos for so long. There’s a Maester there…you might know him.”

There was only two Maesters he still knew of from their time. He frowned briefly; Aemon Targaryen had decided to face the sun when he reached an age even he could not fathom. It had been beautiful, meeting death on his own terms. He thought of the other… “Not Sam,” he gasped. Samwell Tarly, his old friend. A vampire girl he’d befriended, who didn’t want to live alone anymore, had turned him. Jon had been shocked when he realized the truth. He hadn’t seen Sam in hundreds and hundreds of years. They’d lost touch, Sam not comfortable with his violent new identity. “He’s in Essos?”

“He has been in the ruins of Old Valyria, working on a prototype. He still does not like the process, he still does not like what he had become, and despite the fact he and Gilly are still together after all this time.” Unlike the two of them, Sam and Gilly had been at each other’s side for thousands of years. She sighed hard. “It is ready for manufacturing. It works and we are one step closer to avoiding ruining the rest of the human population…to keeping to the shadows for good, as it were.”

And of course Tyrion thought it would be the end of them. “You’re breaking the wheel,” he murmured. It was her dream. Had been her dream from the beginning. The end of the constant battles. The fighting over territory and feeding and control. “And Tyrion is not pleased.”

“He is campaigning with the other families that this will be our downfall and our end. He doesn’t like that I am instituting far more controls and restrictions on what we can and cannot do…it is for the good of humanity.” She sighed. “And he can’t fathom that.” She began to pull from him, extricating her limbs from around him. She had changed out of her bloodied coat and leather, exchanging it for her preferred velvet robes.

With her feet encased in her boots, she left him. He remained on the floor for a moment, eyes closed. He finally pushed himself to his feet, unsteady for a moment as he came to earth. He went to one of the dressers and removed a set of clothes there from one of his previous long-term stays. Gray t-shirt and black jeans. He padded barefoot out of the room and through the house. He knew where she’d gone.

It broke his heart.

He went down the winding stairs, through the catacombs, and into a great cavern, chandeliers with burning candles; she was not a fan of electricity. He found her standing before the massive skeleton, candles surrounding him in offering. The light flickered over her, tears streaming down her face as she stroked his head. She spoke in Valyrian. He knew the words well. _”Issa tresy. Issa tresy. Avy jorrāelan issa tresy. Māzigon arlī.”_

_My son. My son. I love you my son. Come back._

Perhaps Sam should learn how to return dragons to the world, he thought, going to stand beside her. Drogon had lived so long. Died of old age. There were no more dragons to replace him. Even if they could find any more dragon eggs it would not be prudent. Not in today’s age. He went to stand beside her. “I miss him too,” he murmured.

“You miss Rhaegal,” she said, speaking of her other son. The one he’d bonded with and rode to battle, before Cersei shot him from the sky.

“I do.” They were gorgeous creatures. He felt like they were part of him. In a way the wolf was part of him. He watched her as she stepped through the great maw of Drogon, stroking her hand over his teeth, massive, almost the size of her. “You will move on Tyrion when I end the Northern matters,” he decided. He did not want her risking her life until he was satisfied the wolves had been dealt with.

She would burn Casterly Rock, she would burn Tyrion, but without Drogon it was harder for her to use her preferred method of execution. She would stake him and let the sun do its job in the morning. He thought of what he had to do and closed his eyes around tears. Father would be so disappointed to see what they’d become. Ned Stark had only ever wanted peace for his family. To the point where he kept his sister’s secret, harbored a wolf and vampire hybrid, even from his beloved wife.

They called her the Unburnt because she could stand in the sun. She could walk through flames and come out the other side. She was all-powerful. He wished he had something like that to defeat his sister, but Sansa had grown strong over the years. He wondered what it was going to be like. “You will defeat her,” she murmured, one hand on his chest while she continued to lightly drag her fingers across Drogon’s jaw.

“It has to end,” he breathed. At the beginning of the week they hadn’t been speaking. He’d been in his bar, minding his business, living his life, and now here they were. On the verge of all-out war, vampires on the cusp of being able to live without killing, and the eve of a fight for alpha of the pack. He glanced down at her, her violet eyes black as pitch in the candlelight. “They will never let us live in peace.”

“Can we Jon?”

“Can we what?”

She smiled sadly, tears shining in the black. “Can we live in peace? Do you think it is possible for us? Do you think it is possible for two creatures such as ourselves to actually be together without destroying each other? Centuries have told us we can’t. We grow angry and frustrated and devolve to our baser selves.”

It would not end so long as they tried to be together. So long as there were these various skirmishes. He was tired of living like this. They were going to end it; he would see to it. “We can,” he stressed. He squeezed her fingers, pressing them to her heart. Or where her heart used to be. “Together.”

“Always,” she confirmed.

“Now and always.”

They leaned in together, the kiss soft to start and urgently becoming something else entirely. The fatigue had been replaced by a surge of energy and need to conquer and claim. _You are mine._ He growled, tearing at her gown, sending the halves of it fluttering to her feet, leaving her in only her boots. She hissed as he jerked her hips up, no preamble, and thrust into her. She reached up and gripped at the dragon’s petrified fangs, almost hanging above him as he barely undid the zipper on his jeans, freeing himself just enough for her to let go one hand and reach down, gripping him and guiding him into her, not that he needed much help.

With one hand she had torn at his shirt, the scraps joining her tattered dress on the concrete below. She hissed in pleasure and in pain when he slammed up against her, the angle enough to stimulate her beyond just filling her to the brink. She cried out, Valyrian tumbling from her lips. “_ Nyke jāhor ossēnagon ao lo ao keligon!_”

_I will kill you if you stop._ He bit at her neck, fangs extending and his fingers pressing hard into her hips and back, enough to bruise the delicate skin and break nails through the flesh.

They fucked like there was no tomorrow; for him there may very well not be. She held on tight above her to the dragon fangs and he kept her close, hips rolling and trusting and fighting against hers, both trying to be in control. Her boot heels dug into his lower back and ass and her thighs gripped him so tight he was going to explode then and there, but somehow he held on, their mouths hostile with each other, teeth and tongues twisting and clicking and biting.

When she came, it hit him instantly, overpowering them both, and she let go of the fangs, falling around him, clutching his shoulders and sobbing into his neck; the sudden movement pitched him forward, falling onto the concrete where they slammed together again, clenching around the other, bodies shuddering and sending each grasping for the other again, soft moans and groans filling the air as they reconciled what had happened with how they were feeling.

They were slick with sweat from the heat of the cavern and the candles around them hissed and spit, the glow flickering over their bodies with the light quakes of aftershocks causing the glow to sputter on their skin. He brushed his lips over her temple, closing his eyes and gasping. “I love you.”

“_Avy jorrāelan issa zokla._”

He had absolutely no idea how long they remained on the floor of the cavern, with the skeleton of her dragon child above them, protecting them from the decisions and the ramifications of those decisions that had to be made. He eventually got to his feet and pulled her up. She tugged on the scraps of her dress, which didn’t tie together any longer thanks to his earnestness. She held it together at her side, walking up with him from the cavern.

They emerged into the main living space of Dragonstone, in time for him to see Grey Worm enter one of the main parlors. “We have guests,” she announced, sniffing the air. He sniffed; wolf. He relaxed and hurried, forgetting he was without a shirt and was sweaty and dirty from their fucking in the cavern. She followed after him, forgetting as well it seemed. If she let go of her dress, they’d all know what they’d been doing.

He entered the parlor, relief washing over him when he saw Bran sitting in a chair before the fire. “Bran,” he exclaimed, stumbling to his younger brother. He grabbed him in a tight hug. “You’re here.”

“Arya told me to come, but I would have anyway.” He looked up, frowning briefly at his state. “You look exhausted…where is your shirt?”

“You’re both disgusting.”

He turned to see Arya enter this time, followed by her…_whatever he was_ Gendry Barathon. He could smell the forest and the hint of ash and fire from Gendry, knowing the stag preferred to work in metalworks and welding when he wasn’t in charge of the Stormlands. “Shut up,” he said, but there was no heat behind it as he hugged her tight.

They all knew why they were there. He glanced at both his siblings, who were uncomfortable being ina vampire den. Gendry kept glancing at Dany, nervous and shifting. “Your Grace,” he said, bowing his head. She was his queen after all.

She smirked, still holding tight to the pieces of her dress. “I will let you explain the situation. Come back when you finish.” She nodded to them all and disappeared, silently as she returned to her chambers. Grey Worm waited a moment and nodded briskly before he too vanished.

Arya shuddered. “They move too silent. It’s nto natural.”

_Says the woman who turns into a wolf and is over a couple centuries old as well._ He said nothing. He waited a long time. Until he finally took a deep breath and went to the bar, pouring himself a hefty glass of scotch. “There’s been some developments. Tomorrow…” He sighed, closing his eyes. It must be done Jon. “Tomorrow we call a council…a challenge council.”

Arya sucked in her teeth and Bran gave a tiny sound of fear. Gendry looked at them all, confused. “I’m sorry…stags don’t really have this type of thing…what’s a challenge council?”

It was Arya who spoke, answering his question, her voice soft. “Jon is going to call a council to challenge Sansa for pack alpha. It means that they will fight.” She chewed her bottom lip, brow wrinkling, and terror etched into her features. “To the death.”

Bran piped up. “No Stark has called a challenge council in our history. There has been no need. The alpha has always taken control of the pack. This is the first time there has been…issue.”

It’s because he couldn’t decide what he wanted to do with his life, years ago. He wasn’t sure who he was or what he was supposed to do or be. Robb was always the alpha when their father passed. He was always supposed to be the alpha. There was never supposed to be anyone else. Then Robb got killed. Murdered by the Lannisters. It should have fallen to Bran, but he was missing, and so it fell to him. He felt it in his heart and in his blood. He was their alpha, but he was not a true Stark. It was confusing and terrifying and Sansa had been incredibly jealous. She should have been next, the trueborn Stark. So he let her be alpha in all but name. And now it was time.

Time to fully decide who was the pack leader. In the end, if he lost, he would lose. If Sansa beat him it was because she was always supposed to be the leader. Not him. He was just a bastard, a half-breed, and not a Stark. He drained the glass of scotch, tossing the crystal tumbler onto the mirrored tray, ignoring the crack he’d made; no doubt Dany would be upset it was some sort of famous Aegon the Conqueror glass or something. He turned and found Gendry had his feet on the coffee table. He sighed, waving his hand. “Feet off, that thing’s like a million years old.”

“Since when do you care about furniture?” Arya grumbled.

He sat down on the couch across from her. “Since now.” He took a deep breath and began to explain the day’s events, giving an update and explanation for everything. By the time he finished, he could tell everyone was tired, confused, and no doubt second-guessing their decision to come to Dragonstone. He stood, nodding to them all. “You have all the information I do. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

“Wait, Jon, where are you going?” Arya demanded, jumping to her feet. She waved her hands. “We have to keep talking about this!”

“I’m tired of talking.” He left them to their discussions and trudged up the stairs. He made it to Dany’s bedroom—their bedroom—falling onto the bed beside her and tugging her back against his chest. She was not sleeping; she never slept, but gave the pretense she was, so he could enjoy waking her up. Tonight though, as much as he loved to wake her up, he pulled her to his chest and kissed the nape of her neck.

She cuddled back against him, arms clenched around his. “Sleep sweet my darling wolf. Tomorrow is going to be a hard day.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Final Time: The Stark siblings have a showdown in the godswood; Jon and Dany happily move on.


	5. in the end

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything comes to a conclusion with Jon and Dany and their various power struggles; in the end, they can finally move forward.

_“if I see but one smile on your lips when we meet, occasioned by this or any other exertion of mine, I shall need no other happiness.” _

  
_ ** ―  Mary Shelley, Frankenstein** _

When he was a boy his father would take him through the wolfswood and speak about their ancestors. Robb would be there, they would be on either side of him, the one that looked like his mother and the one that looked like their father. Ironically, the one who looked most like his father discovered hundreds of years later that the man wasn’t his father all.

Ned would tell them about the centuries of wolves that traversed the wood, made their families there, and kept their packs alive. _The lone wolf dies while the pack survives._ It was a mantra that they kept to their entire lives, but through a variety of circumstances they had separated and the pack did not survive. The pack died out, scattered to the winds, and one day they had thought perhaps they would be together again. Perhaps they would be a family.

It seemed the pack had died when Ned did. Robb had gone to war. It was shifters and wolves and witches and vampires, all fighting among each other to take control. To see who would reign supreme. The wolves wanted the North and only the North, seceding away from the rest. The vampires wanted to control everyone and everything, the shifters having been in control, Robert Baratheon ruining the kingdoms with his debauchery, married to Cersei Lannister, a vampire, but no one understood that union. As humans Cersei had had children with her brother of all people and then turned them when they became teenagers, so she could be a mother _forever._

And Ned had died, a casualty of that war, her twisted forever-teenage son Joffrey being the one to order his beheading. Then there was the Night King, gaining power in the North, threatening to kill them all. The petty fights in the south meant nothing to him when he’d gone to treat with Dany the first time, demanding her assistance. He’d lost his family. His pack. He’d found out his true heritage, he’d tried to reconcile it all together. The only vampire and wolf, not welcome in either world, but his siblings welcomed him.

The other wolves wanted him to be their king, despite the fact he was not a trueborn Stark. He was the heir though, in the end, and the alpha. Sansa hated it; she always had hated him. She had been through a lot, married by force to Ramsey Bolton, a demented wolf who preferred to chase her when she was in her human form, and who beat her when she tried to shift. Horrifying things happened to her and destroyed her and he was sorry for it and wished he could take them back, but he couldn’t. So he let her control the North for all this time. He stepped aside, choosing his love with Dany to ruling as the true King of the North.

He was exhausted from fighting, whether supernatural forces like walking death in the Night King or the politics of the wolves versus vampires. Now it was all coming to a head. He wondered what Ned would think. Ned would be ashamed to see it come to this. His daughter fighting with the nephew he’d protected all his life. In the end though, they had to come to a solution. They had to follow the rules.

Sansa swore before the weirwood. They formed a blood pact, all of them, and vowed to keep his secret to the death. Before the gods they swore and she violated that trust and violated that sacred pact. She defied the family, defied the pack, and gone to an enemy, gone to someone whose family had almost destroyed theirs and hurt her. She did that over keeping the pack together. There was only one solution.

And while he could have forgiven it, maybe thought about it, she had gone after him. Gone after Dany. She was meddling in things she knew nothing about and people were dying because of it. All because she wanted her power and her crown.

_Her mother would be proud._ Catelyn hated him, did not want him in their home, was disgusted that Ned allowed him there, a _bastard._ Sansa had followed her guidance to the letter. Even now. She claimed that the pack was why she acted, but ignored it when it was convenient for her quest for power. She had spent too much time at the knee of Cersei, during her time in the south, and she had learned to survive in the worst way possible.

He moved slowly and he could feel eyes on him from other members of the North. They hid in the shadows, in the wood, and watched. Their fur on end, vibrating with worry. Some salivating with the knowledge blood would be shed for their survival. They were not invited to the actual council; and it was Starks only, but they were waiting to see who would walk out of the godswood alive. Would they be following a King or a Queen? What would it mean, these rumors they’d heard of their possible king being half-vampire? Would he give them up for the bloodsuckers?

The path branched off, turning right towards the great castle where he’d grown up and turning left towards the godswood. He closed his eyes briefly. Somewhere he could feel Dany, but he wasn’t sure where she was hiding. Whether she was following after him somewhere in the wolfswood or whether she was hovering along the border, seeing if he would break out and meet her at their little cottage or perhaps somewhere else. Perhaps even in Essos, they could sit on a beach and drink all day and pretend that they were in a different world.

He allowed his thoughts to open up. He was still a lone wolf, he’d still broken the connection, but he branched it out, he felt for them. He got to Bran first. Already waiting. Nervous and scared. Normally uninterested in anything. _I’m here._

_I can hear you now. Are you with us again?_

_With you. Where is Arya?_ He pushed the connection further and his little sister was instantly there. He felt her before he heard her and she was waiting at the entry to the godswood. He walked by her, rubbing his neck against hers. She yipped, pressing against him briefly. _I’m here._

_Sansa is waiting._ Arya moved in front of him, her dark eyes scared and wide. He knew she would try one more time. Just once more to make sure they didn’t have to do this. _Please Jon, maybe…maybe we can fix this._

_We can’t. She broke the pact. She broke the pack._ He took a deep breath and walked slowly through the great trees that served as a gateway. Arya was behind him. They made their way through the thicket and emerged into the center of the wood. It was silent. The weirwood canopy over half the clearing and the rest open to the skies above, the blackness full of pinprick stars and the moon glowing full above them.

Sansa sat before the weirwood, her face impassive. She sat where the alpha sat. Her fur was red and ruffled, the tension and nerves forcing her fur up along her spine. She bared her teeth, lips pulling to a snarl. _Cousin._

_I see I am cousin, not brother._

_You called this challenge council. Not I. You are a cousin to me right now._

_Let’s not do this in wolf form right now._ He went behind the trees and a moment later he returned, wearing jeans and walking barefoot back into the weirwood grove. He stared at his sister, his hands on his hips. “Sansa, consider it a show of faith. You could kill me now.” He could kill her too.

She waited a moment and then turned, padding into the grove. A moment later she returned, wearing a silk gray robe around her. She nodded to both their other siblings, who remained in their wolf form, remaining between them, officially taking no sides. Although she of course knew that they had spent the evening at Dany’s manse. She crossed her arms over her chest, flaming red hair braided over her shoulder. “You called this council,” she repeated.

“You have tried to kill me,” he said. He glared at her. “And you broke the pact.”

“It had to be done.”

“Father kept my identity secret for hundreds of years before he died. You kept it for a fraction of that time and only until it served you to break it.” He thought Ned might be ashamed of him, but ultimately Ned would be ashamed of them all. He looked to the weirwood, the carved red face crying back at them. Or screaming. Or laughing. It all depended on what the Gods were thinking at the moment they were watching through its face. He looked to his sister again. “Tyrion now knows my true identity and gods know who else. You have put a target on my back.”

Sansa squinted. “The only target on you is from the woman you call your wife.”

He snarled. “Leave her out of this.”

The blue eyes flashed, angry and cold. Ignoring him, she pressed forward. “She would have you dead, Jon. You are a threat to her rule. The Targaryens are mad, they have been for centuries in their rule and centuries after. She wants to limit the blood for the vampires, she wants to kill them all, and you could change her rule. You could surpass her. She’ll kill you. Love means nothing to those dragons.” She wrinkled her nose and shook her head. Her eyes were so cold, chips of ice in her skull, and he wondered if her heart was just as frozen. They resembled the same ones he saw across the battlefield, before he drove a blade through the Night King’s heart.

It was she who was mad. “You don’t know anything,” he whispered. _It’s all a delusion._ He laughed, but it was a harsh bark. Sad for what had become of the sister who used to embroider and knit and wanted to marry a prince. Even as children she had been rude and ignorant of him, but he didn’t mind it as much. He expected it from her, the true daughter of her mother. He smiled sadly. “I have never wanted power. Never wanted to rule and Dany knows that and respects it. What she is doing is not your concern, you are not a vampire, and the rules prevent you from meddling in their affairs, but you didn’t care about that, did you?”

“I did what I had to do to protect the North. To protect our kind.”

“Including telling Tyrion about me? To keep the North and to get the shifters from the South under your control?” He shook his head, whispering. “Dany would have parlayed with you. She could have come to an agreement with you.”

Sansa glowered. “There is no negotiating with her.”

“And there is no more negotiating with you, it seems.” Beside them, Arya and Bran both whined, falling onto their stomachs and peering up, nervous and scared, ears flicking back. This was going to end in blood, she was not changing her mind. Was digging in her heels further. “You know what happens now.”

“It is sad it came to this.”

“If you really wanted me dead you should have just come to me yourself, instead of getting Tyrion’s little lions to try. They failed.”

She scowled. “You weren’t supposed to be there for most of them. It was for the queen, not you.”

“Your lessons from Littlefinger did not really stick it seems. You should have had all the information. Dany and I are never far apart from each other.” They might go years without seeing each other. Hundreds of years, but they were never far from the other’s thoughts. They were bonded, before the old gods and the new, blood shared and spilled for the other. Of course she wouldn’t understand that. It was her fatal flaw. He shook his head and peered to the tree. “The Gods are asking for this, Sansa. You defied them.”

Sansa sneered. “I believe in no gods any longer. There is only faith in myself.”

_Sounds like Dany. Perhaps she should have tried to seek common ground with her before automatically labeling her the enemy._ He drew back his lips, revealing his fangs. They never saw them. It was a side they knew existed but had never witnessed, reserved solely for Dany. Vampire’s fangs came from their incisors, long and slow on either side of their front two teeth. His were different. His canines extended instead, on the top and on the bottom. It gave him even more of a feral appearance, the red eyes of the wolf alive, both sides of him emerging at the same time, so often warring but right now in tandem.

All his siblings froze and for a moment even Sansa looked scared, her eyes flickering from cold to fear and her breath hitching. He heard her heart start to beat faster and the blood rush through to her cheeks, warming them. He smiled, the fangs extending further and his eyes flashing black and red, alternating between each side. “You love telling everyone about me Sansa, but do you understand what it means?”

The vampire speed had him behind her in the blink of an eye; Bran whimpered in fear. He felt bad for it, for them to see this part of him, but for once in his life he felt calm. For once he understood both sides of him. He reached carefully for her slim, pale neck with one hand, and the other tugged on her hair, coiled in a red braid. He dragged his finger over the pulse that threatened to pound straight from her skin. He could see it, just beneath the surface. “Jon,” she gasped. He felt a tear drip onto his hand. For a brief moment he felt bad. “What are you doing?”

His fangs brushed her neck; he’d never used them on anyone but Dany and purely for nutrition and pleasure. He’d never actually killed anyone in vampire form before. The wolf was more comfortable for him, but Sansa had done this to herself. If she wanted to take over from the vampires, perhaps it would be poetic for one to end her. He closed his eyes and he smiled briefly. “Perhaps I should turn you. What would you think of that, Sansa? You’d no longer be a wolf. You could be like the woman you hate…drinking blood for life and owing her fealty.”

It was purely a threat; he wouldn’t do it. The vampire in him wanted the revenge, wanted the drawn out torture. It had his effect though. “Kill me,” she sneered, lip curly ugly over her teeth in a wry smile. “Just do it. It’s what I would expect from the bastard of the family.”

_Oh Sansa._ He sighed and heard Arya bark in the background. Little Arya, always looking out for him, even now. He shook his head, whispering. “I’m not a bastard, Sansa. I’m the joining of two bloodlines. Powerful blood. You loved to share that, remember?”

Before he had a chance to make up his mind how he was going to do this, she snapped at his hand and shifted, a wolf at his feet. His fangs went back as he immediately moved to become a wolf, darting backwards and skidding in the dirt as she faced off against him. They both glowered, breathing deep, and he could hear Arya and Bran in his mind, shouting for him to not do this, that maybe they could fix it and reason, and he heard Sansa laughing at him. Something about how he was weak, he couldn’t do what had to be done, that was why she was the queen and he wasn’t a king of anything.

He threw back his head and howled, kicking off at the same time as Sansa, both of them slamming into each other, tearing and snapping, fur flying as they both tried to grab at the other. She was fast, smaller than him and angry. She fought dirty, she’d learned from the best. Held his size against him, moving quick to avoid his teeth and claws as he lashed out. They both managed to get a one-up on each other several times, pinning necks and tearing at tails, but each time the other slipped away. She may have had him on pure battle strategy alone, but at the end of the day, the alpha went to the one who could win. At one point, he thought he’d had her by the neck, pinning her to the ground, but then suddenly she was gone and he was flung backwards by something even stronger than himself.

_No. _

In the moment, Arya and Bran screamed in his mind, confused and scared, and Arya made a move to dart into the fray, but Bran pulled her back, shouting how it was not the way of the fight. Not to get herself injured as well, because Sansa could view her as a threat and hurt her too. He drew back, rising on his back legs and howling, kicking his front paws out before falling forward again, panting and staring at the sight before him. He knew what had happened before the rest, shaking his head.

Sansa screamed, going limp as Dany had her by her neck, teeth barely pressed into her flesh. Dany’s fangs were so close, just one press and it was all over. She stared at him, terrified, and he wondered what Dany was doing. He stared at his wife, realizing she was crying, her brow furrowed, and her violet eyes almost black, torn between desire for blood and gore, but wanting to help him first. “I’ll do it,” she whispered, but it sounded like a shout in his mind. She nodded quickly, almost crying. “I’ll do it so you don’t have to. I love you Jon, please don’t let me ruin your family. Let this be on my conscience, not yours.”

No, it had to be him. He shifted immediately, shoving his feet into his jeans, stumbling towards her as Dany held Sansa to her, barely exerting herself as she kept Sansa standing. “Dany no,” he whispered, shaking his head. “Please…this is wolf affairs.”

“And you’re mine,” she whispered. She blinked through the tears. “I can’t have you live with the regret. I can do it. Please.”

In her arms he heard his sister’s harsh laugh. “Let her,” Sansa growled. She laughed again; it was almost maniacal. “I’m dead anyway Jon. No matter what happens.”

In a way she was. Tyrion was already planning on betraying her. He wondered if she knew. He cocked his head. “You know that Tyrion wanted to put me on the throne. Unite both.”

“I am the only queen the North has ever had. The only queen who cared for them the way they needed, a true Stark,” she spat out. She snarled and he could finally see the wolf inside of her; he’d always wondered, she had spent so many years around violence and vampires. She had the mind of one sometimes. Self-preservation above all else. She glared at their siblings. “Those two are useless. Arya, you’ve never been reliable. Always running off and causing problems with shifters. Bran has been a waste since he returned from the true North.”

Their siblings growled, hackles rose at having been brought into the mess. He did not think she meant them; she was trying to distance herself. It was again, another self-preservation tactic. She was pushed into a corner; she was going to die and she knew it. Sansa groaned as Dany’s grip tightened around her. “Let me do it,” she begged, her violet eyes shining. They began to turn black as her fangs extended further. “Please Jon. I have to do this. For you. For us.”

Together. He shook his head. “No, it has to be me. She broke the pact. Wolf law.”

He moved to stand by Dany, behind Sansa. He felt Dany let go, reluctant and Sansa growled, dropping back to the wolf as he did at the same time. They grabbed at each other again, her jaw going for his neck, but he was too fast. He flipped behind her, bigger, faster, stronger, and maybe it was his vampire side, but something snapped and his jaw closed around her neck. He felt the tension and he ached at what he had to do.

With a soft whimper, he saw the light go out of his sister’s eyes, the blue turning black as light left her. He could not hear her thoughts and he wondered briefly if Arya or Bran did, both of them throwing their heads back and howling. It wasn’t in pain, it was the automatic response their forms had to what had just occurred in their sacred space.

_ He was the alpha._

He let go of her neck and watched as the wolf shifted into Sansa, his sister, her eyes closed and her face almost peaceful as she lay crumpled at his feet. Perhaps it was for the best for her too. Maybe it had to be done so she could finally rest. Put away the horrors of her life, the things that had turned her into the monster she had become. Although the same could be true of him. Of Dany. Even Arya. They were all monsters.

He closed his eyes tight. Somewhere he could hear the voices of Arya and Bran, he heard the howls of the rest of the Northern packs, acknowledging that there was a new alpha. Acknowledging him officially as the King. It had to be done.

And he wanted to sleep.

He stumbled out of the godswood, unable to look at what he’d done, and somehow he got to the river where he used to hunt and fish with Robb when they were pups. He fell to the side, eyes closed as the water lapped up over the rocks to smack at his nose, ice cold and shocking him into awareness, keeping him from drifting off into nothing. He wanted to let go; he wanted to forget and to go dark, to avoid the sounds he heard in his head. The pained sobs of Bran and Arya that their sister was gone, that their brother was the new alpha, and the voices and howls and screams of the packs acknowledging his right to rule.

There was a soft crunch of leaves; she did not have to do that, she did so he knew she was approaching. She could be as quiet as the wind, as quiet as the ghost he was in his wolf shape. He could smell her. He whined. He needed her. She knelt at his side and buried her face into his fur. He felt her tears; he opened his eyes enough to see that they were bloody tears. She stroked at his face. “Come back to me,” she whispered, nodding her head slightly. She smiled again, gentle, understanding. She leaned in and pressed a kiss to his nose, her voice a whisper. “I’m always waiting for you as you are for me. I am yours and you are mine.”

_ _ _From this day, until the end of my days._ _ _

And then she was gone.

And he was alone again.

~/~/~/~

She did not drive to Casterly Rock this time; she did not even go West. She summoned. She sent a missive, demanding the Lord of Casterly Rock meet her, not at the manse, but at the old ruins of their kind, the Red Keep. It was now a tourist destination; school groups and others would go there and learn about the former ancient rulers of the Seven Kingdoms, oblivious to what occurred there in the shadows behind the machinations of the mortals.

They spoke of Aegon the Conqueror and his sister-wives and their dragons, which united their kingdom. Forged the chair that sat in the great hall from dragonfire. Scholars laughed, said no, it was just heat and metal and welding like anything else. There were no dragons, they sailed over like anyone else and took what was theirs. Dany knew better; they were her family. They were the first vampires. They lived for ages and they bent humanity to their will.

It was dark, the sky black as ink, even the moonlight blocked out in the Keep. She sat in the chair, legs crossed and her hands curled around the steel sword pommels that made up the arms of the throne. It was hers, it cost her almost everything, and it still continued to cost her. She drew herself up, straight backed and silent. At her side Grey Worm stood, ever her confidant. He was the only one in the world besides Jon that she trusted implicitly.

Tyrion approached; she was glad to see him alone. He held his hands out to his sides. “Why am I here?” he asked. He looked around, a frown on his face. She wasn’t sure whom he was expecting, it wasn’t like she was going to call a Great Council for this. Maybe he thought Jon would be there. Someone else he could try to manipulate. “There’s no one else here.”

It was sad this had to happen. She lifted her chin slightly, ever the queen. “I don’t like executing in front of an audience,” she said. The sun would be up soon, he had to know that. It caused his angst; she could sense it. He was looking for the ways he could get out of this. There would no doubt be plenty of attempts to appeal to their former friendship, his time as her Hand of the Queen, and perhaps even their shared experiences as outcasts. Looking out for the unfortunate and the downtrodden. It was how he got into her good graces in the first place. The exiled and the dwarf.

Vampires were experts at self-preservation; they had to be. Tyrion above all else. Except he had a fatal flaw, just like Sansa Stark had. She had refused to understand anything other than power, to the point of losing her family, the only ones who ever loved her fully. Tyrion loved his family, that was true, but Tyrion loved himself the most. His self-preservation was what drove him, but it also was what would end him. She tapped her fingers on the armrests of the throne, her eyes narrowing. “You are here today because you attempted to overthrow your Queen,” she announced.

Tyrion rolled his eyes; he was pretending to be unaffected. He may not have noticed, but she did, that his voice had gone up a bit in fear. “Are we really doing this in the old Keep? We haven’t used this place for executions and trials in…” He blew out a fake breath. “Gods since I was your Hand, I believe.”

_There it was, appealing to their past._ She reached into the pocket of her black leather coat, throwing down the lock of flame red hair, where it fluttered to his feet, bound with a black velvet ribbon. He studied it and his face went slack when he realized what it was. She arched a brow. “Sansa Stark is dead. The King in the North sends his regards.”

“You killed her?”

She smirked. “No Tyrion, he killed her. Wolf justice it seems is almost as harsh as vampire justice.”

“She broke a vow.”

“And she challenged him for supremacy of the pack. Jon Snow might not be a Stark in name, but he is in blood and the pack is his now. To do with as he sees fit, as he always was meant to do.” She took a deep breath, calling out from her perch on the Iron Throne. “You attempted to overthrow your queen, you made an alliance with the wolves without my knowledge, attempted to sow seeds of doubt in my rule, all because you refuse to acknowledge that my way forward for our kind is what is best.”

“You are preventing us from having a choice!” he exclaimed.

She hissed, up and out of the throne in a flash, glaring down at him, doing everything in her power not to just snap his neck and throw him to a field to burn. “A choice?” she managed to get out. _That was rich._ “You are refusing to move into a new world with me because you think that your way is the only way. You are angry that I didn’t consult you; you think that I will be your downfall, and you hate above all else Tyrion Lannister, that the moment I stopped listening to your council and started listening to Jon Snow that you became insignificant. Everything you had ever wanted to become meant nothing in that moment. The Queen did not think you important. The Queen thought your council unwise.” She curled her lip over her fangs and could see his also extending as he angered. “Your council to me netted me nothing but pain and anguish. I spared your life after numerous attempts to undo me and this is the last time. Your little foray into playing with the pups of the North is what will kill you.”

He hissed at her. “I stand by what I did.”

“And you will die for it.”

“The West will not forget this.”

“The North does not forget, the West will follow whoever I name in your stead.”

Tyrion scowled at her, lashing out as best he could, but she was prepared. She had thousands of years to use as a shield. “And where is your new Northern king now? What will the rest of the vampires think when they find out there’s an alternative to the one on the throne?” He cocked his head. “Of course, he doesn’t want it. You sure can pick them Daenerys. First the khal who died of a simple wound, the sellsword who stole from you, and now the wolf who has two thrones to his name and rejects them both.”

It sounded like he had been talking to Sansa. She curled her lip up, her fangs glinting in the moonlight. She saw Tyrion fumble slightly, his eyes darting away from her. She was in bloodlust at the moment. She wanted to see him dead. She folded her hands in front of her. “You were planning to betray Sansa Stark.”

“She may have learned at my sister’s knee, but she was too trusting of those who agreed with her.”

“Sansa Stark is dead now and Jon Snow is the King of the Wolves,” she said. She arched a brow. “And I plan to allow him to rule over the shifters, the agreement Sansa Stark was attempting to broker with you. If she had come to me, I would have agreed to it.”

“Would you now?”

She chuckled. “You have no faith in me Tyrion. I have held this throne for over two thousand years. I did so with fire and blood. I will continue to do so as we move into the new future of our species. A future where we no longer have to murder, where we can finally live in some semblance of peace.”

He shook his head, whispering. “It will never happen.”

“Not when I have subjects like you attempting to have my head,” she spit. She glanced at Grey Worm, who nodded and in an instant was behind Tyrion, binding his wrists with silver. She sighed. “I wish it did not have to be this way Lord Tyrion.”

He glowered. “You don’t care. You’re a monster.”

“We’re all monsters,” she whispered, the blood pricking at her eyes. It trickled down the side of her pale face. It caught him off guard. She reached her fingertip up, using her blood-red nail to gather the bloody tear from the side of her face and rub it together with her thumb, watching it smear on her skin. She knelt, so she was at the same height as Tyrion and patted his face, whispering. “Goodbye old friend. I am sorry that I have to do this.”

And he began to panic, still bound with the silver, weak and draining from the shackles. Somewhere she heard his screams, protesting that he had made a mistake, that they could fix this, that it was not his idea it was all Sansa and he was just going along with it. _Lies._ She blinked through more tears and strode from the Red Keep, feeling the warmth of the sun as it rose over the horizon.

When it finally came up over the sky, she did not turn to look back at what remained in the Red Keep, but from the news reports later that day it seemed as though someone had broken in and set a fire, but all that was left behind was a charred area of stone in front of the Iron Throne and a pair of pure silver handcuffs, quite the mystery indeed.

And as the sun dropped over the horizon and the creatures of the night came out to hear the news, the Queen of the Vampires announced she would be moving them into a new future, one without murder and destruction and chaos, and perhaps they no longer had to be the monsters they all thought they were. The news was met with quiet curiosity, the heads of the great houses announcing they would go along with it and wondering what had befallen the Lord of Casterly Rock.

“He attempted to overthrow me,” she said to Olenna Tyrell, who was seated across from her desk at Dragonstone. She arched a brow at the older woman’s chuckle as she sipped at a blood gimlet. “Do you disagree with how I addressed it?”

Olenna, the Queen of Thorns, but more like the Queen of Fangs, merely smiled, satisfied. She had lost much at the hands of the Lannisters. She lifted her gimlet up in silent toast. “On the contrary my dear, you are finally the dragon that I always knew you to be. “ She sipped the drink and smacked her lips, studying it and frowning. “Well that tastes the same as if it came from a hot-bodied young thing if I do say so myself.”

She twisted the bottle in front of her, studying the contents. “All synthetic,” she murmured.

“My dear you still seem upset. I think this is cause for celebration. The accursed Lannisters are no more, you’ve taken a great step into the future of our kind, and yet you still mope.” She shook her head, sighing. “It is your wolf rubbing off on you.” Sharp eyes narrowed. “I hear there has been a change in leadership in the North.”

“Hmm.”

Olenna dropped the glass onto the desk and leaned forward, her thin, weathered hands resting on the hard wood. She growled, meeting Dany’s gaze with her bright blue one. “You are a dragon, Daenerys Targaryen, and you always have been. Do not let the events of the last few days deter you from that knowledge. Your relationship with the wolf is the worst kept secret in all of Westeros’s history. We all know it. The gentry may not, but we do. Be with him. It means nothing to us.”

_If only it were that simple._ She smiled, dropping her fingers from where she had been tapping them at her lips. “Thank you Lady Tyrell, you always know how to counsel me.”

“My pleasure, Your Grace. Now, these old bones need a rest, point me to your guest coffin.”

Only the old ones like Olenna still preferred to sleep in coffins during the daylight hours. She gestured towards the door, where an Unsullied was waiting, to escort her to the wing of the manse where she might find such accomodations. Dany waited until Olenna had departed before she stood and went to peer out the window into the glowing evening. She closed her eyes. It still seemed like everything was going to be the same, but she felt a distinct shift in the environment, that had nothing to do with the changing month.

The festival celebrating the War of the Dead was over and a new month would begin, bringing with it new traditions, and she would still be here, watching the rest of the world pass her by and wondering when it would be her turn. She tapped her fingers on her elbows, arms crossed over her chest, and finally tore herself away, ascending the grand staircase to her chambers and walked over to her bed, sitting on the edge and staring at the rug in front of her.

_White fur on the Pentoshi rug._

She knelt, picking up a strand and chuckled, rubbing it through her fingers. She shook her head and sighed, tilting her head back and closing her eyes, hoping that she would see him soon, but however long it took, she knew she would see him.

~/~/~/~

_Two Years Later_

Dany pushed her sunglasses up on her nose, leaning back in the chaise chair on the bright white stonewashed veranda of her villa in the Jade Sea, as far from civilization as she could get. As far from the people of the Free Cities of Essos, Dragon’s Bay, and YiTi. She had this villa built some several hundred years ago and rarely had the opportunity to enjoy it like she was now.

Olenna Tyrell was not thrilled when she had been appointed to be the Queen Regnant, but things had been calm and peaceful in the world of the vampires, so Dany trusted that she could handle things in her absence and anything more serious would be dealt with immediately. She was only a phone call away of course. She just needed to escape, just for a brief respite, as ruling was always so stressful. She had not had any coup attempts in two years, since she put down the one with Tyrion Lannister and Sansa Stark. She had instituted the new rules and regulations and the synthetic blood, which was met with some resistance in the older crowds, but so far it seemed to be accepted.

Gendry Baratheon of Storm’s End had accepted her offer for the shifters to bind to the North, governed under the rule of the King of the Wolves. They followed their rules and their governing, not hers, and she honestly wasn’t sure why she hadn’t let them go sooner because it seemed that the shifters were always the problems for her. She hadn’t dealt with much by way of significant political challenges or concerns since she had executed Tyrion.

And ultimately she just wanted some peace and now that she had it, she was enjoying it. What better place for a vampire to escape to than to a sunny island? She was the _Unburnt_ after all. She intended to live up to the name. She sighed and leaned farther back, knowing that her dead skin would remain forever pale, but she could pretend she was getting a lovely sun-kissed tan, like she used to have all the time when she lived in the Great Grass Sea as a human.

The bikini she wore was black and red, black bottoms and a black bra with red straps. She’d tied them around her chest instead of her neck. Her fingers, manicured blood red of course, tapped on the chaise armrest and she hummed an old song from the War of the Dead days, about Jenny of Oldstones, who danced with her ghosts.

_“The ones she had lost and the ones she had found and the ones she loved the most.”_

Her eyes sprang open at the soft voice behind her. She pushed her sunglasses up and was greeted with a single blue winter rose, dropped in her face from someone leaning above the chaise. Her smile pulled wide and she took the rose, sniffing and finally turning her head to look, following him as he walked around into her view. He wore black jeans, a black tee, and his hair was pulled half from his face. Aviators, black combat boots…he really did not know how to dress for the beach. She dragged the rose along her lips and down to her chest, twirling it along her collarbone. His gaze followed; she wished she knew what was behind the aviators, but she could imagine. Pupils blown black in lust and his gray irises almost drowned out no doubt.

She sighed, pretending to be put-upon. “You’re blocking my light.”

“My apologies Your Grace.” He made no move to leave.

“Are you not sweating under all the black?”

“It was always my color.”

“Hmm.” She kept the blue rose in front of her nose, eyeing him. It had been two years. That was a short one. She arched a brow, surprised as he stepped closer to her and knelt at her side. She smiled, reaching to brush a lock of hair from his face and behind his ear. “I agree.”

The King of the Wolves smiled, long and slow, and he reached to take her hand into his, rough thumb rubbing in tiny circles on the web of skin between her thumb and index finger. He lifted her index finger and brought it to his lips, kissing lightly. She reached with her free hand and pushed at his sunglasses, knocking them from his face so she could see him properly. It seemed like there were fewer lines around his eyes, his cheeks were fuller, and he was smiling wider.

He rubbed his fingers through hers and took his free hand to tug on the back of her head, guiding her lips up to meet his. She kissed, soft and gentle. It was a kiss of two old lovers with nothing to prove, nothing to worry about, and who were confident in each other’s love and presence. She brushed her nose against his, smiling, and snaked her hands to tug on his shirt, moving him closer. “I missed you,” she whispered.

“I missed you more.”

“Not possible.” It was on the tip of her tongue to ask how long she had him. Except she instead offered to go inside with him, so they could get reacquainted properly. He drew her up to her feet, hands squeezing, and she frowned in slight confusion. Usually by now they would have already brought each other to climax, maybe even twice, but they were still dressed and standing out on her patio. She frowned again. “Jon? Are you alright?”

He nodded and his hands reached to frame her face, the warm palms seeping into her cool skin, and the calluses and scars abrading her smooth skin. “I love you,” he whispered, his burr curling her toes into the hardwood of the patio, and she hummed in pleasure. He brushed his thumbs across her cheeks, capturing the tears that had already dropped free. “I’m more than alright,” he whispered. He lowered his lips to hers and she gasped, feeling the pressure increase as he moved closer into her and drew her up to him at the same time.

Palms wide and splayed on her bare back, with nothing more than two scraps of lace between her and him, she wanted him then and there, fucking her straight into the wooden slats of the patio, maybe even knocking her into the lap pool and pressing her against the side, taking her and conquering her like the dragon-wolf he was. She wanted him right here, so she began to tug at his clothing, but he stilled her, hand on her wrist. “What’s wrong?” she whispered.

He shook his head. “No, I don’t want to do this right here. We’re going to do it properly, but first…” He lifted her off the patio, her toes brushing goodbye as they levitated almost clear out of the air, lifting to wrap around his thin waist. He carried her inside and his lips rubbed against hers. “Marry me Daenerys Stormborn.”

Her heart fluttered, as it only ever did with him, because he made her feel downright human again. She tried not to smile, to be stern and queenly, as she was. He was a king as well, in his own right, and she draped her arms around his neck, walking backwards towards the staircase. “But my king, what of your people? What will they say when they learn that a wolf and a dragon are engaged to be married?”

“Fuck em’.”

Well that was one way to treat it. She giggled. “Perhaps it best we keep this quiet.” The teasing disappeared when she saw that he was still serious, his face unmoving, and gray eyes hardened. Her smile faltered. “Jon?”

He growled, swooping to snag her mouth with his again, tongue plundering and taking from her. She rose to her toes and moaned, gripping him and allowing him to use her, to drink from her and not allow her a moment before he was tearing away, gasping for the air he needed. She felt her lips swollen from the kisses and her eyes narrowed. He growled again, feral and warning. “They will not question my love life if they want to keep their life. I am their King and they will follow me. You are my wife and for the first time in almost two thousand years, we’re going to act like it.”

_But we can’t._ “And if we kill each other again? We always do.”

“We won’t this time,” he vowed. She cocked her head. He smiled, eyebrows lifting. “Things have changed Dany. We’re not the ones we used to be.”

_Monsters._ “We still are, you’re still a wolf and I’m still a vampire and our people…” she tried to interject, but he was already shaking his head. She sighed, closing her eyes at his stubbornness. “Jon, please…”

“I ceded the pack to Bran.”

Her eyes widened, bright purple in the warm sunlight, surprising her in the way only he could do. She reached for his hands, her thumbs sliding up to his wrists, pressing lightly and feeling his steady pulse, a reassuring reminder he was there in front of her. Her mouth formed a slight ‘o’ and she closed her eyes, lashes fluttering against her cheeks as he swept down to kiss her, capturing her surprise and holding it there, her body still against his. _He ceded the pack._ She tore herself away, her hand rising to hold his face again, her head cocking, studying his plump lower lip and the way he nervously took it under his top teeth before letting go, awaiting her response.

_Without the pack, where do we go from here?_ “Bran is the king?” she murmured, eyes closing fully, savoring the feeling of his hands skimming along her bare sides, his thumbs looping under the bows at the bottom of the bikini. “You…you gave the pack over?”

He shook his head and kissed across her face, anchoring his mouth to her neck. She sighed, her arms looped over his shoulders, dancing her fingertips under his black t-shirt. “It is still my pack, I am still the King, but Bran will do the day-to-day responsibilities with Arya. We’re trying something new.” He chuckled. “Taking a page from your book Queen Daenerys.”

And that left them where it left them, she concluded, her smile unable to stop. “Oh Jon,” she sighed, sinking against him, molding against his body as he walked her from the large expanse of the patio towards the villa. She no longer felt her feet on the cool stone, realizing he had lifted her easily, and so she assisted him with her legs wrapping around his waist, rocking her hips against his, rubbing languidly and eliciting a hiss from him. She sighed again. “I am sorry.”

“For?”

Ultimately she didn’t have to say why; his sister was still dead, the power struggle had ended and it was just heartbreaking that it needed to happen. He nodded silently, kissing her again, and she allowed the break in their conversation, her body reacting as it always did with him, skin prickling and the dull ache between her thighs sharpening as the pressure built, needing him, needing something of him there. “For how this has to be.”

He stretched her back on the wide expanse of the four-poster bed in her bedroom—their bedroom—she spread her thighs, inviting him closer, except he pulled back onto his knees, sinking onto his heels, his hands resting atop her knees lightly. He turned to stare out the open side of the room, gauzy curtains fluttering in the breeze from the Jade Sea. He finally tore his attention from whatever he was seeing on the horizon, meeting her eyes again. The gray irises she had mapped completely, knowing every spark, every flash, and every emotion within them. He stretched towards her, his body covering hers completely, and placed his hands over her heart, or where it would have been.

And he kissed there, his forehead dropping to it. She tousled his curls, holding his head close. “I am sorry as well,” he murmured. He kissed her skin, lips hot and eliciting a purr from the back of her throat. “But things have been calm. For the first time since I can remember the North is calm, the wolves are steady and the shifters are happy. I told everyone that I would be leaving, I would be king in name but day-to-day responsibilities would fall to Bran and Arya. They understood.”

“Where does that leave us Jon?” She dared not hope too much.

He smiled, lifting his head up and quirking his lip, arms pillowed over her breasts, the comfortable weight of him pressing her into the silken sheets. “Where we finally need to be Dany. With each other.” He arched his brows. “I told them. Told them about me. The real me.”

_Oh gods._ Her eyes pricked and she sniffed, feeling his rough finger brush at the tear, smearing the blood on the corners of her eyes. She hesitated. “You…you told them?” _How have I not heard this?_

He nodded quickly, looking unsure for a brief moment, but it faded and he was resolute. “I told them. Told them of my claim to both thrones. I would not press for either. The North needs peace and it finally has it. Told them that you are mine and I am yours, they could fuck off and leave me in peace. I think for the first time in our shit history it worked. They know what will happen to them if they try to stop me. I am still a wolf.” He kissed her again, nose brushing, and his soft burr deepened to a growl. “And a dragon.”

She bucked her hips to his, needing him to fill her, to take and claim her. “_ Avy jorrāelan, issa dārys, issa zokla, issa zaldrīzes, jorrāelagon hen issa glaeson se mīsio hen issa prūmia.”_

“I love you,” he replied, repeating her words back, showing he understood. Of course he did. “My queen, my dragon, love of my life and protector of my heart.”

_Gods I love you._ She sobbed and pushed forward, holding his face in her hands, kissing him, finally able to release and be with each other without the overwhelming pressure outside of their happy cocoon, without the fear of being found out, of worrying about their advisors or their families or their subjects. She was his and he was hers and they were the only ones who mattered at the moment. For the first time in how many thousand years they had been together, she was confident that they could do this.

She tore from the kiss, savoring his warm puffs of breath on her cool skin. His fingers began to move, shaking as they tore at the scraps of fabric that still covered her body, keeping her from his taking and she fumbled with his clothing, needing his heat and the hard ridges and planes of him, the scars both physical and emotional on full display for her love. “_ Nyke aōhon se ao issi ñuhon hen bisa tubis ēva se mōris hen issa tubissa. īlon jāhor udrāzma hēnkirī, īlon jāhor morghūljagon hēnkirī._”

Valyrian tumbled from her lips, as it did when the emotions drowned her, and she was grateful he understood, whispering back, hands moving over her skin expertly, touching her where she most wanted it, drawing out her pleasure and bringing her to the peak. “I am yours and you are mine.” He rose over her, sliding slowly into her, and she sobbed at the way she still stretched around him, feeling him in every nerve ending, her toes curling into the silk duvet under them. “From this day until the end of my days.”

They moved, slow and steady, unhurried as much as she knew they wanted to throw everything to the elements and devolve to their base creatures, the vampire and the wolf tearing skin and destroying each other as they rushed for their individual pleasure, almost forgetting the other. This was different. This was the beginning, she vowed, her fingers scoring at his shoulders, holding steady. She refused to break their gaze, listening to his words, strained as he held back, thrusting steady and forcefully into her, beginning to speed up as she rolled her hips up to meet him. “We will rule together,” he gasped, biting at her shoulder, tearing a groan from her parted lips. She felt his fangs, the tips touching lightly and hers extended in response, her eyes darkening and the heat and sound of his blood rushing filling her with anticipating.

And then he drove into her so far and so deep she screamed, sobs tearing from her chest, her nails breaking skin and her fangs painful in her jaw as she desperately needed to drink from him. “And we will die together,” she finished, everything in her vision going black and red, the pressure finally releasing inside of her, her body bowing up to him, riding the crest of the first wave and crying as the rest shook through her, her thighs clutching him against her and their bodies slicked together, so close the other could not tell where they began and where they ended.

They lay together, his nose in the crook of her neck, teeth still skimming at her former pulse. She could sense the change, the way he held himself and the way their minds and their bodies could communicate without even saying a word. This was the beginning, she thought, turning her face to his. “This is it then,” she whispered, wondering if he felt it as well. Of course he did. She tried not to let her smile tear at her face, but she couldn’t stop it, feeling it almost split into two. “You and I. Forever.”

“As it was always meant to be.”

“No letting politics in the way,” she whispered.

He nodded, his thumb dragging across her lower lip, swollen and chapped from their frantic kisses. “No fighting before we go to bed.”

“No shedding on my Myrish rugs.”

He made a face, but she giggled, and he smiled. “No resentment,” he continued.

She nodded. “And no secrets.”

“No yelling at me when I put my feet on your fancy furniture.”

“No wet dog smell in my car.”

He made a sound akin to a giggle. His nose brushed her clavicle, kissing the hollow of her neck. “And no calling yourself a monster.” It was serious, his eyes meeting hers, and she saw the warning in them. The way he could see her soul. Know her fears and her desires. He kissed her again, breathing. “You are not a monster Dany. It is just a mask. You are good and kind and you love your people and you love me. You are not a monster.”

_Sometimes it feels that that was all we really were._ “And neither are you,” she murmured.

They smiled and he covered her breast with his hand, studying it; sometimes she wondered what it would have been like if they had met when she was a human. If they had the opportunity to be…_normal._ Then again, they were never meant to be normal. They were meant to be this. “I love you,” he said, simple and quiet. That was all it had to be. No pretty words. No flowery language and big gestures. He loved her. And she loved him.

Her fingers snaked through his curls, resting on the nape of his neck. “I love you too,” she replied. This was the beginning. She snuggled against him, and he drew the sheet up over them, watching as the sun dropped in the sky over the sea, basking them in its glow, until it dropped completely and the moon emerged and the night overtook the sky, stars sparkling and moonlight shimmering on them both. She felt invigorated. She slipped from the bed and tugged him to his feet, dragging him towards the door. “Come,” she ordered.

“And where are we going?”

Her fangs extended and his did in response, both of them grinning, and she arched her brows. “Oh, I have plans, now that we have no responsibilities.” He chuckled and in one blink was in his wolf form. He took off and leaped from the archway, a blur of white in the darkness. She grinned and raced after him, her muscles stretching as she finally had a chance to be who she was meant to be. She stopped, turning in a circle, wondering where he’d gone.

And in the nights he heard his howl and grinned around her fangs, taking off towards it. The beginning, she thought, finding him in a clearing, in his normal form, and she flew into him, a crash of bodies, hearts, and souls. _This is only just our beginning._

**fin**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and Happy Halloween. :D

**Author's Note:**

> This won't be very long, a few chapters probably, and it may not make sense. May just involve some more Jon and Dany reunion sex, a couple of violent outbursts, and martini glasses of blood and Jon ruining Dany's damask with white fur. Who knows.


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